- 


a  in  lit  on 


THE   OUTPOST  OF 
ETERNITY 


'  She  was  a  very  will-o'-the-wisp." 


[Page  105.] 


THE  OUTPOST  OF 
ETERNITY 


BY 

COSMO    HAMILTON 


NEW    YORK 

D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY 
1912 


COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Published,  ,  191Z 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


"  She  was  a  very  will-o'-the-wisp "     .     .     .     Frontispiece 

" '  I'm  telling  you,'  she  said, '  it's  got  to  be.  I  dreamed  it ' "  46 

"They  all  saw  Dick  sitting  up  in  bed,  cigarette  in  mouth "  132 

"  She  was  utterly  cool  and  blase  " 190 


2136176 


PART   I 
CHAPTER   I 

HE  looked  like  a  man  who  had  to  do  with 
horses.  His  face  was  round,  plump  and  red 
— the  red  of  health  and  weather.  He  was 
utterly  clean-shaven,  but  his  hair  was  so  fair  that  he 
had  the  appearance  of  a  man  who  never  shaved.  Only 
his  eyes  saved  him  from  being  taken  for  a  groom. 
He  might  have  been  a  trainer  of  horses.  He  looked 
capable  and  as  though  he  had  had  control  of  men. 
His  manner  was  easy  and  he  obviously  took  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  pains  over  his  clothes.  He  wore  a 
colored  shirt  and  a  colored  collar  to  match  it,  a  hard 
collar,  and  his  tie  was  palpably  Duke  Street.  There 
was  nothing  aggressively  horsy  about  his  clothes, 
but  the  seams  of  his  coat  were  marked  out,  as  they 
were  down  the  leg  of  his  trousers.  His  boots,  black- 
ing boots,  had  leather  uppers  of  a  very  shiny  red. 
He  seemed  to  have  pockets  everywhere  with  flaps  to 
them,  and  beneath  the  one  on  his  left  breast  a  touch 
of  handkerchief  showed,  a  heliotrope  handkerchief 
with  round  white  spots.  His  bowler  had  a  flat  brim 

I 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

and  his  gloves  of  bright  leather  were  inlaid  in  the 
palms  and  forefingers.  The  man  looked  as  though 
he  had  been  born  with  a  straw  in  his  mouth. 

The  porters  at  Paddington  instinctively  touched 
their  hats  to  him,  although  they  had  never  seen  him 
before,  and  the  young  man  at  the  paper  stall  grinned 
warmly  when  he  gave  him  change,  bent  forward  and 
asked  him:  "Know  anything  for  to-day,  sir?"  Lord 
Thoresby  returned  the  grin  and  shook  his  head. 
"Couldn't  tell  you  the  names  of  a  single  horse  run- 
nin',"  he  said.  "Bin  out  of  the  country  for  about  a 
thousand  years." 

The  paper  stall  man  watched  him  move  away  among 
the  heterogeneous  rush  of  passengers.  He  was  inter- 
ested. His  quiet  movements,  his  steady,  examining 
eye,  were  different  from  those  to  whom  the  station 
was  obviously  a  too  well-known  place.  He  walked 
about  like  a  man  quietly  noting  the  changes  that  had 
taken  place  in  a  once  familiar  scene.  The  engines 
had  something  about  them  which  caught  his  attention. 
The  appearance  of  the  refreshment  room,  the  little 
kiosk  which  gleamed  with  tobacco  tins  and  boxes  of 
cigarettes,  the  railway  advertisements  with  drawings 
of  hefty  little  boys  paddling  and  young  amazons  in 
spotless  ducks  driving  on  a  verdant  green  golf  course 
with  gleaming  cliffs  behind  them,  were  all  noticed. 
The  passing  Corporal  of  the  Grenadier  Guards  made 
him  turn.  There  were  differences  in  his  uniform.  In 
fact,  nothing  escaped  his  notice.  Men,  women  and 
things,  sounds  and  smells  had  their  interest,  and  when 
finally  he  got  into  a  corner  seat  of  a  third-class  smok- 

2 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

ing  carriage  and  quietly  loaded  a  pipe  it  was  with  a 
curious  smile,  half  pathetic,  half  amused. 

"Dashed  odd!"  he  said  to  himself.  "I  don't  seem 
to  have  changed.  /  feel  the  same.  But  twenty-three 
years  has  made  the  devil's  own  difference  to  every- 
thing else."  He  heaved  a  sigh  and  gave  a  chuckle. 
"Well,  what's  it  matter?  I'll  bet  my  life  on  one  thing. 
Dear  old  Tony  Okehampton's  the  same.  And  there's 
something  in  that." 

There  was  everything  in  that.  This  man  Thoresby, 
known  twenty-three  years  ago  as  Billy  Russon,  had 
one  illusion  left,  only  one.  It  was  that  Tony  Oke- 
hampton,  handsome,  sunny,  fair-haired,  generous, 
clean-minded  old  Tony  Okehampton  would  always  be 
the  same,  however  old,  bitter,  cheap  and  pessimistic 
the  world  became,  and  when  he  returned  to  England 
after  an  absence  of  what  he  rather  more  picturesquely 
than  was  his  wont  dubbed  a  thousand  years,  the  first 
thing  he  felt  impelled  to  do  was  to  find  Tony  Oke- 
hampton. 

Find  was  hardly  the  word.  He  had  left  him  stand- 
ing on  the  steps  of  a  warm  old  house  in  Buckingham- 
shire, the  Chiltern  hills  behind,  two  counties  lying 
spread  out  at  its  feet.  There  he  would  be,  the  same 
Tony  Okehampton,  standing  on  the  same  steps  of 
the  same  warm  old  house,  with  the  same  Chilterns 
behind  and  the  same  two  counties  in  front. 

It  was  a  curious  thing  that  in  this  man's  irreligious, 
irregular,  slipshod,  not  far  short  from  dishonest,  un- 
tidy mind  there  had  always  been  a  note  of  sentiment 
in  regard  to  the  man  with  whom  he  had  been  at  Eton 

3 


THE  OUTPOST  OF  ETERNITY 

and  Oxford.  During  the  many  times  when  he  had 
been  down  and  out,  when  he  had  been  reduced  to 
driving  an  engine  in  Nebraska  or  conducting  a  tram- 
car  in  New  York  or  endeavoring  to  pick  up  an  adven- 
turous living  as  a  commercial  traveler  in  Argentina, 
or  when,  with  others  of  the  same  kidney,  he  had 
worked  early  and  late  on  a  Canadian  fruit  farm,  Billy 
Thoresby  let  his  thoughts  go  wandering  until  they 
rested  upon  the  charming  personality  of  his  old  friend. 
He,  at  any  rate,  ran  dead  straight.  This  was  a  con- 
viction, a  fixed  idea,  something  that  gave  him  a  sense 
of  deep  pleasure.  Tony  Okehampton  was  the  only 
man  of  his  set  who  was  not  a  wrong  'un,  who  could 
never  be  a  wrong  'un.  It  rilled  Thoresby  with  a  feel- 
ing not  unlike  that  of  patriotism.  It  meant  a  good 
deal  to  this  man  of  heterogeneous  occupations,  who 
knew  the  world  as  well  as  the  middle-aged  city  clerk 
knows  his  financial  paper.  It  was  a  sort  of  habit  of 
his  to  say  to  himself:  "Well,  all  the  old  gang  has 
gone  under.  We've  all  scrambled  and  dodged  about 
cheatin'  God  and  man,  goin'  the  crooked  ways,  but 
old  Tony  Okehampton  remains  what  he  always  was. 
And  that's  something!" 

There  are  men  who  say  with  a  touch  of  snobbish 
pride  that  they  have  been  to  school  with  So-and-So, 
who  is  perhaps  at  the  top  of  some  particularly  notice- 
able ladder.  There  are  others,  untraveled  men,  who 
boast  that  they  know  Paris  backward.  Thoresby 
found  continual  satisfaction  in  the  fact  that  Tony  Oke- 
hampton was  still  what  he  had  always  backed  him 
to  be,  a  damn  good  chap,  b'God !  a  white  man. 

4 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

He  was  not  the  only  one.  Of  the  few  remaining 
members  of  the  Okehampton  set  who  sometimes  whis- 
tled "For  Auld  Lang  Syne"  in  the  odd  corners  of  the 
world  there  were  two  rowing  blues,  a  boxing  blue,  a 
First  in  Greats,  and  one  or  two  more  who  applied  the 
word  Okehampton  to  anything  for  which  they  had  an 
irrevocable  respect  and  affection.  They  knew  them- 
selves just  as  Thoresby  did,  and  they  liked  to  think 
that  they  knew  Okehampton. 

There  were  two  reasons  why  Thoresby  made  a  point 
of  seeing  Okehampton  before  he  did  anything  else  on 
his  return  to  England.  The  first  was  to  get  just  that 
amount  of  egotistical  satisfaction  which  finding  one- 
self right  alone  can  give,  and  the  "second  to  show 
himself  to  Okehampton  under  his  new  name  and  in 
his  new  whitewash.  He  was  no  longer  Billy  Russon. 
He  was,  thank  you  very  much,  the  Earl  of  Thoresby. 
It  was  devilish  amusin'.  He  was  no  longer  the  poor 
devil  without  a  shilling  to  his  back  or  an  ounce  of 
credit  to  his  name,  who  got  meat  and  drink  by  the 
skin  of  his  teeth.  He  was  an  English  peer,  and,  there- 
fore, a  man  of  weight  and  respectability.  Doors 
which  must  have  been  shut  in  his  face  would  now  be 
opened  wide  at  his  approach.  The  keenest  memory 
would  now  conveniently  forget  his  long  list  of  shadi- 
nesses.  Those  who  would  not  have  been  seen  in  the 
same  acre  patch  as  Billy  Russon  would  jostle  each 
other  to  stand  within  arm's  length  of  my  friend  Lord 
Thoresby,  you  know.  Like  a  man  who,  proud  of  his 
personal  appearance,  had  long  hidden  himself  away 
because  his  face  had  been  rendered  disgusting  by  some 

5 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

hideous  skin  complaint  and  came  out  again  radiant 
with  a  new  complexion,  Thoresby  wanted  with  a  sort 
of  boyish  eagerness  to  present  himself  again  to  his 
almost  abnormal  pal  smiling  beneath  his  metaphorical 
robes.  It  was  very  natural  and  human  and  it  would 
have  been  all  the  jollier  had  he  been  able  to  rattle  in 
his  new  pockets  several  coins.  But  a  man  can't  have 
everything.  Billy  Russon  was,  at  the  moment,  more 
than  contented  to  have  stepped  into  the  shoes  and  the 
name  made  famous  by  his  father.  As  a  peer  he  had 
no  doubt  whatever  that  the  regrettable  absence  of  coins 
in  his  pocket  would  very  soon  be  remedied. 


CHAPTER    II 

THE  man  who  had  put  the  flying  country 
through  a  searching  examination  had  never 
expected  to  see  it  again.  Mounted  policeman, 
cowpuncher,  bronco  buster,  barkeeper,  waiter,  engine- 
driver,  telegraphist,  steward,  farm  hand,  palmist  and 
crystal  gazer,  billiard  sharper,  bookmaker,  and  an  ex- 
pert in  all  the  many  professions  for  which  the  man 
who  lives  on  his  wits  serves  no  apprenticeship,  he 
discovered  that  he  was  the  new  Lord  Thoresby  while 
in  Sydney,  Australia.  It  happened  that,  at  the  mo- 
ment, he  was  traveling  for  a  new  toothwash  and  was 
in  more  or  less  affluent  circumstances.  That  is  to  say 
that  he  had  drawn  a  matter  of  twenty  pounds  on  ac- 
count of  commission  and  possessed  two  suits  of  clothes 
which  he  had  been  lucky  enough  to  get  on  tick.  He 
had  seen  the  news  of  his  father's  death  in  the  morn- 
ing paper.  It  had  been  cabled  from  England.  He 
read  that  the  deceased  peer,  who  had  held  most  of 
the  important  posts  in  a  series  of  Unionist  govern- 
ments, was  succeeded  by  his  eldest  son,  the  Hon.  Wil- 
liam Russon,  most  of  whose  life  was  devoted  to  big 
game  shooting. 

"The  King  is  dead,"  said  Billy.     "Long  live  the 
King!"     He  grinned  a  little  at  the  completely  non- 

7 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

committal  description  of  his  occupation  and  went  off 
at  once  to  a  hosier's  shop,  where  he  bought  a  black 
band  for  his  white  dump  hat  and  a  black  tie.  He  had 
no  grudge  against  his  father.  He  considered  him 
to  be  an  ornament  and  almost  an  institution.  At  the 
same  time,  he  had  often  speculated  in  his  unpleasant, 
wakeful  hours  how  he  came  to  be  the  father  of  such 
a  son.  He  was  a  firm  believer  in  heredity.  There 
must  have  been  something,  some  closely  guarded  ten- 
dency in  his  father's  character  of  which  few  men  had 
been  aware.  His  mother  was  altogether  blameless. 
The  next  thing  that  he  did  was  to  send  a  cable  to  the 
family  solicitors  asking  them  to  telegraph  enough 
money  to  the  Bank  of  Australasia  in  Sydney  to  pay 
his  fare  to  England.  On  leaving  Australia  for  home 
he  omitted  to  return  either  the  samples  of  toothwash 
or  the  small  sum  on  account  of  commission  to  his  em- 
ployers. He  had  a  sort  of  wish  to  leave  the  long 
trail  characteristically.  Many  other  tailors  had  been 
done  by  him  before.  In  any  case  they  were  not  good 
suits.  The  trousers  were  execrable. 

He  found  England  extraordinarily  small  and  park- 
like.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  towns  through  which 
the  train  passed  on  the  way  to  King's  Redesborough 
were  mere  toys.  They  made  him  laugh.  He  missed 
the  boasting  advertisements  of  America  and  Australia, 
the  blatant  skyscrapers  and  all  the  newness  and  raw- 
ness and  noise  of  these  places.  He  asked  himself 
what  could  be  the  ultimate  fate  of  a  nation  which  re- 
fused to  enter  in  the  race,  which  deliberately  stood 
still.  He  looked  at  the  little  red  villas  with  their 

8 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

small  gables  and  patch-like  gardens  which  surrounded 
the  stations  of  the  places  within  twenty  and  twenty- 
five  miles  of  London  and  wondered  how  it  was  that 
Englishmen  could  be  contented  to  live  year  after  year 
in  such  narrowness,  so  ambitionless.  He  gradually 
came  to  regard  himself  as  a  pioneer  returning  from 
his  triumphs  rather  than  as  a  waster  coming  back  to 
a  country  of  honest,  easily  satisfied,  hard-working  men. 

He  had  been  to  King's  Redesborough  two  or  three 
times  in  the  old  days.  He  spent  his  holidays  there 
once  from  Eton  when  Tony's  father  was  alive.  He 
made  one  of  a  large  party  which  stayed  at  Quennor 
for  the  coming-of-age  celebrations  of  the  man  who 
had  already  come  into  his  own.  His  final  visit  had 
been  to  borrow  money  from  Tony  to  take  him  out 
of  the  country  with  somewhat  inconvenient  celerity. 
He  was  going  back  to  it  now  after  twenty-three  years 
to  ask  for  board  and  lodging  and  whatever  sport  there 
might  be  going  while  his  solicitors  sold  things  for 
him.  All  the  money  had  been  left  to  his  younger 
brother,  an  uncommonly  deserving  person.  There 
were,  however,  two  or  three  houses  that  could  be  sold, 
he  hoped,  and  a  fine  collection  of  pictures.  His 
brother  possessed  a  house  and  was  far  too  deserving 
to  take  much  interest  in  art. 

He  found  King's  Redesborough  very  much  as  he 
had  expected  to  find  it.  A  large  and  airy  station  with 
open  country  on  its  left  and  a  few  straggling  cottages 
on  its  right,  with  one  or  two  newish  garden-city-like 
villas  dotted  here  and  there,  lay  in  a  dip  a  mile  or  so 
from  the  town.  Billy  decided  to  walk  and  ask  his 

9 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

way,  leaving  his  luggage  at  the  station  to  be  called 
for  later.  He  had  no  doubt  whatever  that  Tony  Oke- 
hampton  would  be  at  home.  Tony  Okehampton  was 
the  sort  of  man  who  was  always  at  home.  He  was 
married  and  had  children  and  was  the  Squire.  He 
was,  of  course,  also  a  magistrate  and  the  chairman 
of  the  Unionist  Association,  the  Horticultural  Society, 
the  Farmers'  Association,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Billy 
walked  because  he  wanted  to  get  into  the  right  mood 
and  to  be  in  a  sort  of  way  cleaned  up  by  the  exqui- 
sitely fresh  air  before  coming  face  to  face  with  the 
simple,  excellent  people  who  stood  for  all  that  was 
best  in  English  life. 

As  he  went  along  the  old  road,  lined  on  the  one 
hand  with  well-kept  cottages  and  frequent  inns  and 
open  on  the  other  hand  to  the  rolling  country,  Billy 
drew  a  tender  picture  of  his  friend's  wife  and  chil- 
dren. Mrs.  Tony  must  be  tallish,  with  abundant  hair 
and  a  soft  laugh,  fearless,  proud  eyes,  and  a  mouth 
which  had  never  been  the  home  of  an  untruth.  She 
must  wear  a  mushroom  hat  and  gardening  gloves  and 
be  followed  always  by  an  oldish  spaniel  and  by  robins 
which  fluttered  from  tree  to  tree,  from  bush  to  bush, 
and  passed  the  time  of  day  with  her.  She  must  have 
at  least  three  sons,  the  eldest  of  them  not  far  short 
of  twenty-one,  and  a  young  edition  of  herself,  with 
hair  flying  behind  her,  the  apple  of  her  father's  eye. 
He  had  no  need  to  revise  his  picture  of  Tony  himself. 
It  would  be  hypersubtle  to  touch  his  hair  with  gray 
and  his  face  with  lines.  No  man  with  such  a  laugh 
could  ever  grow  old.  No  man  with  such  a  heart  could 

10 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

ever  lose  youth.  Just  to  see  this  man  again  would 
be  good.  It  would  not  matter  if,  having  a  full  house, 
he  could  not  put  up  the  wanderer.  He  was  a  peer, 
and  to  obtain  credit  was  easy.  There  were  plenty  of 
hotels  in  London. 

Billy  remembered  the  schoolhouse.  It  was  the 
same,  no  larger,  no  smaller.  He  remembered  the 
thickly  thatched  roofs  in  the  houses  at  the  end  of  the 
road  and  the  name  of  the  baker  in  the  wide  main 
street.  He  remembered  the  forge  on  the  left  and 
the  inn  which  called  itself  a  hotel  on  the  right,  with 
its  old-fashioned  hanging  sign  and  its  large  courtyard 
and  stables.  He  remembered  the  old  market  place 
on  whose  posts  parish  notices  were  stuck.  But  the 
bank  was  new  to  him.  He  came  to  a  full  stop  at  the 
top  of  the  street,  beaten  as  to  whether  he  went  to  the 
right  or  to  the  left.  An  old  man  was  sweeping  the 
road,  a  merry  old  man  with  straggling  wisps  of  hair 
and  a  back  bent  double  with  rheumatism. 

"Quennor?"  said  Billy.    "Which  way?" 

"Eh?" 

"Quennor!"  shouted  Billy.  "Squire  Okehampton's." 

"Oh !  Okehampton's !  Straight  up  the  'ill  and  bear 
'round  to  your  right  all  the  way.  .  .  .  Okehamp- 
ton,  ah!" 

It  seemed  to  Billy  that  there  was  a  note  of  the  sort 
of  admiration  which  one  old  rip  has  for  another  in 
this  septuagenarian's  voice.  He  went  as  directed,  find- 
ing himself  in  a  wide,  well-made  road  not  too  fre- 
quently rushed  over  by  motors.  There  was  open  coun- 
try again  to  the  left,  a  very  kaleidoscope  of  open 

ii 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

country  glorified  by  the  sun,  and  on  his  right,  high 
up,  cut  sharply  in  the  chalk  side  of  a  peaked  hill,  a 
great  cross.  Here,  if  you  like,  was  England,  a  corner 
of  the  beautiful  garden  of  the  placid  country  which 
did  not  seem  to  be  aware  of  the  fact  that  it  was  being 
undermined  by  mole-like  politicians  and  which  did  not 
dream  that  socialistic  rats  were  eating  away  her  very 
vitals.  Bill  was  strangely  devoid  of  the  bump  of 
geography.  Coming  to  another,  though  much  smaller, 
village,  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  whether  to 
turn  up  to  the  right  or  go  straight  on.  He  saw  a  man 
leaning  on  the  saddle  of  a  bicycle  talking  to  another 
who  stood  at  the  gate  of  a  cottage.  The  latter  wore 
the  unmistakable  look  of  a  tax  collector.  The  former 
might  have  been  a  hosier  who  won  billiard  tourna- 
ments. His  tie  was  flashy  and  his  mouth  loose.  Billy 
went  up.  "I  wish  you'd  tell  me  whether  I'm  right 
for  the  Squire's?"  he  said. 

He  saw  a  curious,  angry  glint  in  the  eye  of  one 
man  and  a  gleam  of  insolent  familiarity  all  over  the 
face  of  the  other. 

"Tony  Okehampton,  eh?  Oh,  yes.  You're  right 
enough.  If  you've  got  anything  for  him,  look  out  you 
don't  get  a  charge  of  rabbit  shot  in  the  calves." 

This  was  Greek  to  Billy,  and  as  he  went  on  it  was 
with  a  puzzled  line  between  his  eyebrows.  It  was  all 
very  curious.  Was  this  the  new  spirit  of  disrespect? 
Or  what  was  it?  He  expected  that  the  very  men- 
tion of  the  Squire's  name  to  these  village  people  would 
bring  a  respectful  smile  to  their  faces.  He  dismissed 
the  impression,  however,  from  his  mind.  People  had 

12 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

altered.  Places  had  altered.  Customs  had  altered. 
But  there  was  one  man  and  one  place  that  would  never 
alter — Anthony  Okehampton  of  Quennor. 

The  new  peer  came  face  to  face  suddenly  with  the 
old  house.  It  stood  perched  high  up  against  a  back- 
ground of  beech  trees,  a  forest  of  beech  trees  which 
wailed  and  murmured  like  lost  and  distracted  souls 
in  the  winter  and  in  the  summer  whispered  softly  or 
were  silent.  Yes,  there  was  the  old  house  still,  long 
and  low  and  comfortable,  everything  about  it  definite, 
its  period  stamped  upon  its  face,  its  gardens  on  a  series 
of  terraces  kept  with  spinster-like  primness,  its  door 
always  hospitably  open. 

The  man  of  many  pasts  and  a  somewhat  Gilbertian 
future  was  as  hard  as  steel.  He  tackled  the  hill  in 
front  of  him  as  though  it  were  level  ground.  He  kept 
laughing  softly  to  himself  as  he  went.  It  was  his 
way  of  covering  up  his  emotion.  He  didn't  care 
who  caught  him  with  a  little  break  in  his  voice.  He 
knew  that  he  was  making  a  sort  of  pilgrimage  in 
order  to  stand  before  a  man  who  was  not  merely 
white  but  whom  he  had  backed  to  remain  white. 
There  was  great  satisfaction  in  his  having  won  his 
money. 

It  would  have  afforded  the  professional  psychologist 
considerable  amusement  and  some  astonishment — • 
the  sight  of  this  horsy,  compact  little  man  with 
moist  eyes  tramping  relentlessly  up  a  break-neck  hill 
to  pay  genuine  deference  to  a  person  whose  virtues 
he  admired,  but  whose  precepts  he  had  never  fol- 
lowed. 

13 


THE   OUTPOST   OF   ETERNITY 

There  was  a  stretch  of  park-like  land  at  the  top. 
An  avenue  of  trees  divided  it,  and  here  and  there  it 
was  cut  into  by  clumps  of  furs  encircled  with  railings. 
A  beautifully  designed  iron  gate  topped  with  the  arms 
of  the  Okehamptons  stood  open.  There  was  an  old 
lodge  at  the  foot  of  the  park.  Its  little  garden  was 
alight  with  flowers.  A  fat  tabby  cat  was  stretched  out 
asleep  on  the  twisted  branch  of  an  apple  tree.  Birds 
sang  everywhere.  An  elderly  woman  was  hanging 
washing  on  a  line.  It  was  twenty-three  years  since 
Billy  had  passed  through  this  gate  and  then  he  had 
looked  back  at  it  with  affectionate  eyes,  for  in  his 
pocket  there  was  a  check  made  out  to  himself  for  five 
hundred  pounds  signed  by  Anthony  Okehampton. 

A  hen,  shrieking  like  a  suffragist,  scuttled  away  at 
his  approach,  and  a  squirrel,  half  way  up  the  drive, 
performed  an  acrobatic  feat  for  his  edification  up  the 
thick  trunk  of  a  tree.  Billy  had  no  eye  for  the  gar- 
dens. His  attention  was  riveted  on  the  open  front 
door  of  the  house.  Somehow  he  was  disappointed  in 
not  finding  Tony,  handsome,  breezy,  excellent  Tony, 
standing  on  the  old  steps  framed  by  the  Jacobean 
doorway.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  place  was 
strangely  devoid  of  life.  No  gardeners  moved  about. 
He  could  detect  no  clucking  sound  of  lawn  mowers 
at  work,  which  was  associated  in  his  mind  with  Eng- 
lish gardens.  No  dog  ran  out  with  a  friendly  bark 
and  wagging  tail.  He  noticed  with  a  sense  of  shock 
that  several  of  the  windows  were  broken  and  that 
one  of  them  had  been  mended  with  a  piece  of  news- 
paper. It  irritated  him.  He  would  as  soon  have  ex- 

14 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

pected  to  see  a  smudge  upon  his  mother's  face.  He 
stood  outside  the  door  and  gave  the  old  familiar 
whistle  invented  at  Eton  and  practiced  at  Oxford. 
There  was  no  answer.  He  called  out,  "Tony,  old 
man!  Tony!"  and  again  there  was  no  answer.  He 
put  his  hand  on  the  bell  and  rang  loudly.  No  one 
came.  He  went  into  the  hall  quickly,  the  great  hall 
with  its  oak  gallery  and  full  length  oil  paintings  of 
Okehamptons.  A  curious  smell  came  to  his  nostrils 
— a  sort  of  last  night's  smell  of  stale  cigar  smoke  and 
beer.  The  rugs  on  the  parquet  floor  lay  about  in  de- 
bauched attitudes,  and  the  floor  itself,  unpolished  and 
dirty,  was  riddled  with  nail  marks.  Empty  and  half 
empty  bottles  stood  upon  a  long  narrow  oak  table 
and  there  were  cigar  ends  everywhere.  Several  coffee 
cups,  some  of  them  minus  handles,  looked  oddly 
ashamed  of  themselves.  The  saucers  of  two  of  them 
were  filled  with  pipe  ash.  There  was  a  tortoise  shell 
hair  comb  on  the  floor  at  his  feet  and  a  pair  of  stays 
dangled  obscenely  over  the  gallery  facing  him.  Some- 
thing made  him  stride  quickly  across  the  hall  and  stand 
beneath  the  well-painted  portrait  of  Tony's  father  that 
hung  in  the  place  of  honor  over  the  great  fireplace. 
The  canvas  was  riddled  with  bullets.  One  of  them 
had  cut  a  hole  in  the  center  of  the  forehead  and 
against  it  were  scratched  the  initials  of  Tony  himself. 

"Good  God!"  said  Billy  aloud. 

Had  death  been  here?  If  so  it  was  a  ribald,  waste- 
ful, drunken,  desecrating  figure. 

An  untidy,  dejected-looking  woman  came  into  the 
hall. 

15 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Billy  turned  to  her.  "What's  wrong  with  the 
Squire?"  he  asked. 

The  woman  scoffed.  "Why  don't  you  ask  what's 
wrong  with  all  of  us?"  she  said. 

"Is  he— well?" 

"Depends  what  you  call  well." 

A  sort  of  shiver  ran  over  Billy.  He  felt  as  though 
he  were  standing  on  a  catacomb  and  that  a  bat  had 
touched  his  mouth  with  its  wing.  He  asked  the  woman 
several  other  questions  and  received  no  answer,  only 
a  sulky  grumble.  He  went  over  to  her  and  took  her 
by  the  shoulders.  "Where's  my  friend?"  he  asked 
hoarsely.  "Damn  you !  Why  don't  you  answer  me  ?" 

"Damn  you!"  said  the  woman  and  shook  herself 
free.  "Friend,  indeed!  Why  come  here  to  look  for 
him?  Go  to  the  pub  in  the  village.  That's  his  place. 
There's  nothing  to  drink  in  these  cellars." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Billy  feebly.  "What  hell- 
ish brute  has  laid  a  jetta  on  this  house,  on  Tony  Oke- 
hampton's  house,  on  Tony  Okehampton?" 

"Oh,  don't  bother  me." 

Billy  turned  and  fled.  The  reek  of  the  place  sick- 
ened him.  The  echo  of  derisive  laughter  that  seemed 
to  ring  around  the  gallery  made  him  break  into  per- 
spiration. He  went  out  into  the  sunlight  and  stood 
quite  still.  He  now  saw  that  the  grass  of  the  gardens 
was  rank,  that  there  was  moss  on  all  the  paths  and 
that  flowers  grew  wild.  He  moved  forward  out  into 
the  road  through  the  gate.  Instinctively  he  turned 
to  the  left,  went  along  until  he  came  to  the  village 
of  small  thatched  cottages.  He  seemed  to  be  passing 

16 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

through  a  Christmas  card.  The  place  seemed  too 
beautiful  and  old-fashioned  to  be  true.  In  the  middle 
of  the  village  up  several  narrow  brick  steps  stood  a 
small  laborers'  inn.  High  above  the  coarse  voices 
of  farm  hands  Billy  heard  the  gay  laugh  of  Tony 
Okehampton. 

Feeling  as  cold  as  though  he  had  been  suddenly 
stricken  with  ague,  the  man  of  many  pasts  who  had 
been  temperamentally  unable  to  go  straight  went  up 
the  steps  and  stood  outside  the  open  window  of  the 
parlor.  He  saw  a  bulbous  man,  a  sort  of  village  Fal- 
staff,  his  great  calves  bulging  in  gaiters,  his  fat  face 
thrown  back,  laughter  gurgling  from  his  mouth.  He 
saw  a  thin,  sly-looking  poacher-like  man  with  the 
marks  of  chalk  on  his  clothes,  giggling  drunkenly. 
He  saw  several  aged,  bird-like  villagers  with  cutty 
pipes  stuck  in  their  toothless  gums.  In  the  middle 
of  them,  sprawling  on  a  chair,  tie  awry,  and  fair  hair 
sprinkled  with  gray,  a  pint  pot  of  beer  held  in  the 
well-shaped  hand,  the  white  man,  Tony  Okehampton, 
flabbily  and  horribly  drunk. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  man,  who  now  had  no  illusions,  remained 
looking  into  the  window.  This  unshaven,  un- 
kempt, bloodshot-eyed,  soddened  wreck  of  a 
man,  with  enough  of  his  former  beauty — because  that 
was  the  word — still  hanging  to  him,  with  the  same 
irresistible  turn  of  the  head,  the  same  broad  shoulders 
and  deep  chest  and  peculiarly  well-formed  hands  which 
were  used  almost  as  a  Latin  uses  them,  was  Anthony 
Okehampton.  To  Billy  he  looked  like  a  racing  yacht 
which  had  sunk  and  been  hauled  up  after  a  month 
or  two. 

He  stood  there  with  stupid,  inane  laughter  ringing 
in  his  ears  and  the  filthy  smell  of  shag  offending  his 
nostrils,  searching  in  his  mind  for  excuses.  "There 
must  be  somethin'!"  he  thought.  "There  must  be. 
Oh,  gee,  there  must  be!  His  wife's  dead.  His  chil- 
dren have  been  carried  off  by  some  epidemic,  small- 
pox, something,  anything.  He's  mad,  he's  gone  off 
his  head.  He's  not  Tony  Okehampton.  He's  only 
the  shell  of  him." 

Yes,  that  was  it.  That  must  be  it.  The  house 
showed  the  madness.  Very  well,  then,  he  stood  in 
need  of  a  friend.  That  was  something. 

18 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

And  so  poor  old  Billy  Russon,  deprived  of  his  long- 
looked-forward-to  desire,  found  himself  undergoing  a 
mental  somersault.  He,  the  much-patched  kettle,  was 
to  assume  a  sort  of  superiority  over  this  broken  urn. 
My  God,  what  satire !  He  went  into  the  public  house 
parlor  and  stood  in  front  of  Tony  Okehampton.  He 
seemed  to  be  very  clean  among  those  men.  He  wasn't 
able  to  speak.  He  held  out  his  hand. 

Tony  looked  him  up  and  down.  "Why  not?"  he 
said.  "Everybody's  friend,  eh,  b'God?  Here's  how, 
then !"  and  he  shook  the  hand  of  the  man  whose  face 
he  failed  to  recognize.  "Well,  old  boy,  what's  yours?" 

Billy  shook  his  head. 

"Rot  and  nonsense!  We  all  drink  here,  everyone 
of  us,  man,  woman,  child  and  beast.  It's  the  most 
drunken  little  spot  in  England.  We  only  live  once, 
y'know,  eh,  boys?" 

"Aye,  aye,  Squire!     That's  so." 

"Mac,  you  puddin'-faced  Scotch  pig,  give  this  gen- 
tleman a  quart." 

"Tony,  old  man,"  said  Billy  quietly,  "don't  you 
remember  me?" 

Tony  threw  back  his  head  and  gave  a  great  laugh. 
"Remember  you?  'Course  I  remember  you.  You're 
that  sanguinary  little  Beddington  bookmaker  who's 
touched  me  down  for  thousands.  You're  almost  a 
blood  relation.  You've  had  most  of  mine.  Come  on, 
Mac!  Good  God,  how  slow  these  blasted  Scotchmen 
are!" 

Billy  persisted.  The  poor  man  was  mad.  "No,  no, 
dear  old  man,"  he  said.  "I'm  Russon,  Billy  Russon. 

19 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Don't  you  remember?    Tarver's,  you  know,  and  New 
College." 

"Oh,  hell !"  said  Tony.  "Come  on,  stuff  this  down !" 
and  he  handed  him  the  tankard.  "You're  too  sober, 
old  boy.  It's  funny.  Wait  a  second!  We  drink 
toasts  here.  I  give  you  my  beautiful  wife  and  my 
two  charming  gels,  roarin',  rantin',  clever  little  devils 
all.  Now  then,  let  it  go." 

Billy  hesitated.  Instantly  a  hand  shot  out,  tipped 
up  the  tankard  and  the  quart  of  good  ale  made  a 
puddle  upon  the  floor.  At  least  a  pint  of  it  trickled 
down  Billy's  clothes. 

Instantly  Tony  was  on  his  feet.  "Oh,  my  dear 
fellow,"  he  said.  "By  Jove,  I'm  sorry.  How  care- 
less. Dash  it,  how  absolutely,  hopelessly,  rottenly 
rustic!  Do  forgive  me!"  In  the  most  Elizabethan 
manner  he  started  to  dab  the  wet  places  with  a  dirty 
handkerchief. 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  said  Billy. 

"Awfully  nice  of  you  to  say  so,  but  it  does  matter. 
One  gets  so  frightfully  slack,  buried  away  in  these 
little  holes.  Mac,  refill  this  tankard.  Go  on!  Mr. 
Whatshisname's  had  an  accident.  I  beg  your  pardon. 
What  name  did  you  say?" 

"Russon,"  said  Billy. 

"Russon — Russon."  Tony  shook  his  head.  "Are 
you  the  coach  maker  at  Little  Bledlow  ?  No,  of  course 
not.  You're  a  gentleman.  Do  forgive  me.  God,  it 
must  be  about  ten  years  since  I  met  a  gentleman.  Ah, 
here  we  are."  For  the  second  time  he  handed  the 
tankard. 

20 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Billy  drank  deeply.  There  was  a  very  nasty  taste 
in  his  mouth.  Then  he  said:  "I've  just  been  to 
.Quennor." 

"Oh,  have  you?"  said  Tony  dryly.  "The  devil  you 
have !  What  do  I  owe  you  ?  Now  look  here,  seriously, 
who  the  devil  are  you?"  The  man  began  to  get  angry. 
He  put  himself  into  a  fighting  attitude.  His  dull  blue 
eyes  did  their  best  to  look  fierce.  They  looked  like 
lamps  whose  glasses  were  covered  with  mud.  "I  don't 
want  any  damned  man  hanging  about  Quennor.  If  I 
owe  you  anything,  send  in  your  bill.  Play  the  game. 
I  play  the  game.  I've  paid  you  off  thousands  in  my 
time.  You're  all  damned  thieves,  the  lot  of  you." 

"You  owe  me  nothing,"  said  Billy. 

Instantly  Tony's  whole  manner  changed.  To  find 
a  man  to  whom  he  owed  nothing  was  almost  an  ad- 
venture. He  clapped  two  cordial  hands  on  Russon's 
shoulders.  "Then,  b'Jove,  you're  a  friend,"  he  said. 
"And  I'll  tell  you  what.  There  are  about  twenty-two 
spare  bedrooms  at  Quennor.  They're  yours.  Take 
the  damned  lot!  Let  me  put  you  up  and  I'll  drink 
you  under  the  table  every  night  of  the  week.  It's  a 
beautiful  old  place,  Quennor.  Do  you  know  it  ?  Been 
in  my  family  for  generations.  Okehampton  my  name 
is,  b'God!  Tony  Okehampton,  everybody's  friend. 
I'm  the  blot  on  the  escutcheon!"  He  roared  with 
laughter  and  then  grew  eager  in  a  staggering  kind 
of  way.  "Yes,  that's  the  notion.  You  stay  with  me. 
You'll  be  my  honored  guest  and  meet  my  wife  and 
daughters,  talented  people,  although  they're  devils,  the 
lot  of  'em.  Is  that  a  bet,  sir?" 

21 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Thanks  very  much,"  said  Billy. 

"Oh,  that's  toppin',"  said  Tony  warmly.  "You're 
a  sportsman.  Come  on,  let's  go  'round  there.  I'll 
show  you  the  place.  Good  morning,  boys!  Chalk 
these  drinks  up  to  me,  Mac.  I  come  into  a  hundred 
thousand  next  Friday,  or  a  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand, I  forget  which.  Money  to  burn!"  He  lurched 
and  took  Billy's  arm  and  together  they  made  their  way 
out  of  the  public  house  with  laughter  trickling  after 
them. 

When  they  got  on  the  road  and  were  passing  be- 
tween the  almost  unbelievably  pretty  cottages,  Tony 
drew  up  and  stood  in  front  of  his  new  friend.  "Old 
boy,"  he  said,  "I'm  not  the  man  I  used  to  be.  I  think 
you'd  better  know  it."  His  face  broke  and  several 
beery  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks.  "I  was  a  better  man 
than  you  once,  old  boy.  A  pretty  good  sort  of  a  fel- 
ler. It's  not  my  fault.  I've  been  driven  into  this. 
Talking  about  bein'  a  man's  fault,  did  I  ever  tell  you 
that  toppin'  good  story?"  .  .  . 

He  was  laughing  again.  Billy  wished  him  dead. 
This  was  not  madness.  It  was  beer.  "Let's  get 
home,"  he  said. 

"Home!"  echoed  Tony.  "Wait  a  second.  Now  I 
come  to  look  at  you — Why,  good  God! — Did  you  say 
Russon,  Billy  Russon?" 

"Yes,  Russon.    Billy  Russon." 

"Old  Billy  Russon !  Why,  dammit,  you're  a  friend 
of  mine.  You  were  at  Eton  with  me  and  Oxford. 
You're  old  Thoresby's  son.  The  bad  pup  of  the  pack. 
Why,  Billy,  my  dear  old  friend,  this  is  it!  This  is 

22 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

just  it.  This  is  the  moment  of  my  life.  Why  the 
devil  didn't  you  say  so?  I'm  mighty  glad  to  see  you." 
He  shook  him  by  the  hand  and  patted  him  on  the 
shoulder  and  tilted  his  hat  back  and  dug  him  in  the 
ribs  and  almost  danced  around  him.  For  the  moment 
some  of  the  old  irresistible  blue  came  back  into  his 
eyes,  something  of  what  seemed  to  be  the  spirit  of  • 
unquenchable  boyishness  back  into  his  manner. 

The  warmth  of  his  welcome  touched  Billy.  He  had 
looked  forward  to  this.  He  laughed  a  little  to  hide 
his  emotion  and  said :  "Tony !  My  dear  old  Tony !" 

"Now  I  come  to  think  of  it  I  remember  hearin'  our 
old  whistle  just  now.  It  was  like  a  note  struck  on  a 
dead  piano.  I'm  all  the  gladder  to  see  you,  dear  old 
friend,  because,  b'God,  you're  the  burger  who  owes  me 
five  hundred  quid  and  I  can  do  with  a  bit!" 

Billy  felt  like  a  pricked  bladder. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE  clock  with  a  slow,  dignified,  reverberating 
bell  struck  four.  Some  moments  later  one 
that  was  more  alert  and  even  perhaps  a  little 
irritable  struck  eleven.  Thoresby  looked  at  his  watch. 
It  was  a  quarter  to  two.  He  had  been  sitting  for  an 
hour  and  a  half  in  the  room  which  Tony  Okehampton 
had  called  his  own — a  room  with  a  great  bay  window 
which  framed  a  glorious  picture  of  rolling  downs, 
here  and  there  showing  patches  of  white  chalk,  curious 
cup-like  patches,  here  and  there  grass  covered,  and 
in  one  place  dotted  with  what  appeared  to  be  an  army 
of  black-coated,  stunted  men  running  amuck.  These 
were  in  reality  gorse  bushes  out  of  flower.  The  win- 
dow was  wide  enough  to  take  in  a  big  slice  of  beech 
forest  in  full  leaf,  but  with  all  the  winter's  dead 
things  at  the  feet  of  the  trees,  a  very  carpet  of  rich 
brown.  The  sun  moved  in  waves  with  ebb  and  flow, 
up  and  over  and  back  again,  touching  everything  as 
it  passed  with  a  golden  hand. 

For  an  hour  and  a  half  the  man  whose  days  had 
been  punctured  by  cunning  resourcefulness  listened 
in  stony  silence  to  Tony  Okehampton's  endless  stream 
of  drunken  confidences.  He  heard  him  laugh,  a  poor 
substitute  for  the  old  gay  laugh  of  Eton  and  Oxford. 
He  saw  his  sagged  face  pucker  up  like  a  hurt  child's. 

24 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

He  watched  his  shaky,  unclean,  expressive  hand  as  it 
illustrated  all  that  he  said.  He  took  quiet  stock  of 
the  well-cut  clothes  stained  everywhere  with  drink  and 
oil,  tobacco  juice  and  grease.  He  looked  deeply  into 
the  once  blue  eyes  and  tried  to  recognize  in  them  the 
old  spotless  soul  of  dear  old  Tony  Okehampton.  Dur- 
ing this  painful  hour  and  a  half  he  just  said  yes  and 
no  and  ha!  ha!  and  tried  not  to  listen  to  the  kaleido- 
scopic, indeterminate,  unsteady  sentences.  In  endeav- 
oring to  put  his  old  friend  up  to  date  this  God-stricken 
creature  began  and  never  finished  a  hundred  reasons 
for  his  moral  and  financial  debacle.  He  gathered  first 
that  it  was  due  to  Okehampton's  wife,  then  to  his 
children,  then  to  a  most  persisent  ill  luck,  a  sort  of 
jetta,  which,  like  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  had  fastened 
itself  upon  his  back.  He  could  not  make  head  or  tail 
of  any  of  these  laughing,  blubbering,  bitter  and  wholly 
unconvincing  reasons.  The  one  thing  that  stood  out 
of  them  all  was  that  Okehampton  himself  was  un- 
offending. Nothing  was  his  fault.  There  was  not 
one  thing  honest  about  this  once  spotlessly  honest 
man.  He  had  soaked  the  truth  in  beer  and  stained 
it  with  tobacco.  There  was  nothing  at  the  bottom  of 
the  well  except  dregs. 

All  this  gave  Thoresby  a  very  peculiar  sensation. 
He  felt  like  a  man  who  had  once  been  a  devout  Roman 
Catholic  and  who,  on  entering  his  church  again  after 
a  series  of  faithless  years,  found  it  desecrated  by  the 
hand  of  some  satirical  devil  who  had  brought  blas- 
phemy to  a  fine  art  and  had  painted  a  leer  upon  the 
face  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  Disappointment  was  a  word 

25 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

which  had  no  meaning  to  him.  He  was  brought  al- 
most to  the  verge  of  physical  illness.  He  felt  older 
and  shriveled.  He  knew  wasters  backward.  He  knew 
himself  inside  out.  He  had  instinctively  herded  with 
every  class  and  species  of  the  genus.  He  found  Tony 
Okehampton,  dear  old  Tony  Okehampton,  the  biggest 
waster  of  them  all. 

If  this  man  had  left  his  wife  alone,  if  he  had  not 
spent  himself  upon  the  most  inventive  ribaldry  and 
picturesque  indelicacy  whenever  his  wife's  name  came 
into  his  racing  mill-stream  of  incoherence,  it  might 
have  been  better.  If  he  had  been  able  to  speak  of  his 
two  girls  with  a  clean  mouth,  it  would  not  have  been 
so  bad.  As  it  was,  the  more  eagerly  and  tearfully 
he  endeavored  to  justify  himself,  the  more  he  stood 
condemned  out  of  his  own  mouth. 

The  new  Lord  Thoresby  was  infinitely  glad  when 
at  last  Tony  Okehampton  faltered,  broke  off  and  fell 
into  a  stertorous  sleep  with  his  head  buried  in  his 
chest.  He  got  up  and  stretched  himself  and  said  some- 
thing beneath  his  breath  in  which  the  name  of  Al- 
mighty God  came  reverently  for  the  first  time  for  who 
knows  how  many  years.  He  saw  with  renewed  feel- 
ings of  pain  that  his  old  friend's  very  room  had  passed 
through  the  same  debasement  as  its  owner.  All  the 
pictures,  and  they  were  good,  were  cock-eyed.  Many 
of  them  had  been  used  as  targets  for  darts.  The  very 
books  looked  like  bedraggled  street-walkers.  Their 
covers  were  torn,  their  pages  dog-eared.  Dust  sat 
thickly  upon  everything.  Sporting  guns,  fishing  rods, 
a  banjo  with  one  string  broken,  boxing  gloves,  dumb- 

26 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

bells,  empty  tobacco  tins  rubbed  shoulders  with  broken 
bottles,  dirty  tumblers,  inkpots,  broken  braces,  golf 
shoes  all  over  dried  mud,  and  an  endless  collection  of 
rubbish.  No  orderly  hand  had  been  laid  upon  any- 
thing for  years.  It  seemed  to  Thoresby  that  the  very 
windows  had  not  been  opened  for  an  age.  The  room 
was  not  merely  fuggy.  It  was  piled  high  with  layers 
of  fugginess. 

He  left  the  place  on  tiptoe  quickly.  He  wanted  to 
breathe.  He  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  hall  and  heard 
something  moving  in  the  gallery.  He  wheeled  around 
with  a  sort  of  fear  upon  him  and  saw  something 
slither  out  of  sight — not,  however,  before  he  was 
aware  that  the  figure  was  that  of  an  untidy  woman, 
barely  dressed.  A  little  giggle  hung  upon  the  air — 
a  snigger,  rather. 

"My  God!"  said  Thoresby. 

For  the  second  time  that  morning  he  hurried  out 
into  the  sunlight  to  get  warm,  to  feel  the  touch  of 
health.  He  stood  on  the  moss-covered  path  at  a  loose 
end.  He  was  a  hostless  guest. 

Years  before  he  had  slept  in  a  room  in  the  left  wing 
of  the  building,  what  was  called  the  bachelor  wing. 
It  contained  a  charming  breakfast  room  hung  around 
with  antlers  and  sporting  trophies.  It  had  its  own 
main  door  leading  onto  the  terrace,  its  own  staircase 
running  up  to  a  set  of  smallish,  cheery  bedrooms.  It 
was  in  this  building  that  he  had  passed  the  last  night 
of  his  last  visit,  with  Tony  Okehampton's  generous 
check  under  his  pillow.  He  had  placed  it  there  with 
a  laugh  as  superstitious  girls  hide  love  letters. 

27 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

A  porter,  treading  warily,  one  eye  on  the  lookout 
for  an  unchained  dog  and  the  other  for  the  master, 
came  up  carrying  his  shirt  case  and  kit  bag.  Thoresby 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Better  bring  'em  here,"  he 
said  and  led  the  way  to  the  wing  he  remembered  with 
more  than  a  touch  of  sentiment. 

The  door  was  open.  The  antlers  still  hung  on  the 
walls,  but  the  room  had  been  used  as  a  sort  of  tool- 
shed  and  there  were  hundreds  of  empty  and  broken 
pots,  some  of  them  filled  with  powdered  earth  and 
the  remains  of  withered  plants.  The  old  oak  table, 
worth  a  good  deal  to  a  collector,  had  been  made  into 
a  carpenter's  bench.  A  winch  had  been  screwed  onto 
it  and  it  was  covered  with  rusty  nails,  odd  bits  of 
iron,  a  chopper  or  two,  a  plane  and  several  screws. 
Thoresby  could  have  wept.  Had  nothing  been  spared, 
not  even  furniture?  Had  this  diabolical  jetta  played 
havoc  with  everything?  He  turned  sharply  upon  the 
gaping  man,  gave  him  half  a  crown  and  packed  him 
off.  It  seemed  almost  indecent  to  let  him  into  these 
secrets.  He  then  picked  up  his  luggage  and  carried 
it  upstairs.  The  stair  carpets  were  in  holes.  Some- 
one had  drawn  obscene  things  upon  the  walls.  The 
floor  of  the  passage  was  indescribably  dirty.  Thoresby 
hurried  along  to  his  old  room.  He  found  it  much 
the  same,  except  that  even  there  the  spirit  of  ugliness 
had  entered.  The  bed  was  unmade.  A  blanket  and 
a  pillow  lay  upon  the  floor.  The  sheets  were  all 
towsled,  the  pictures  awry,  the  looking-glass  starred 
as  though  it  had  been  deliberately  smashed  by  a  stone. 
But  the  window  was  open  and  that  was  something. 

28 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

The  Earl  of  Thoresby  made  his  bed,  not  for  the 
first  time.  He  would  have  to  be  content  to  lie  upon 
it.  And  while  he  worked  he  became  aware  of  curious 
sounds.  They  grew  in  volume.  At  first  he  thought 
that  someone  must  be  ill-treating  a  horse.  Then  it 
seemed  to  him  that  a  drunken  groom  was  assaulting 
a  woman.  He  heard  unbelievable  words,  ingeniously 
blasphemous.  He  felt  impelled  to  go  to  the  window, 
to  cry  out  and  put  a  stop  to  it.  And  there  he  stood 
rooted,  looking  at  a  scene  which  had  never  met  his 
world-traveled  eyes. 

He  saw  two  young  girls,  both  beautiful,  with  faces 
distorted,  their  supple  figures  in  short  skirts  and  tight- 
fitting  jerseys,  eyeing  each  other  like  wild  beasts.  Both 
were  crouching  as  though  ready  to  spring  and  both 
were  breathing  hard  after  a  bout  of  fighting.  A  little 
trickle  of  blood  ran  down  the  pale  cheek  of  the  girl 
whose  hair  was  all  golden  and  curly. 

Before  he  could  cry  out,  the  one  whose  face  was 
swarthy  like  an  Italian's,  and  whose  hair  was  black, 
sprang  forward.  Her  dirty  hands  clutched  the  golden 
locks  and  tore  them  wildly.  There  was  a  shriek 
of  pain,  a  running  fracas,  bursts  of  rage  and  invec- 
tive. 

And  then  Thoresby  left  the  window  and  the  room 
and  the  wing.  He  ran  around  the  building  like  a  man 
who  wishes  to  put  a  stop  to  murder.  He  found  the 
fair-haired  girl  full  stretch  upon  the  paving  stones, 
with  the  dark  one  kneeling  on  her  chest  with  a  frothy 
mouth. 

All  he  could  say  was  "Oh!— Oh!" 

29 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

The  conqueror  looked  up  insolently.  "Who  are 
you?"  she  said. 

Thoresby  bent  over  her,  put  his  hands  under  her 
arms  and  wrenched  her  away.  The  girl  stood  for  a 
moment  in  utter  astonishment,  burst  into  a  shrill  shriek 
of  laughter  and  fled. 

And  then  Thoresby  gave  his  hand  to  the  prostrate 
girl.  She  took  it  and  stood  on  her  feet  and  faced 
him.  Her  beauty  startled  him.  She  might  have  sat 
to  a  sculptor  as  the  embodiment  of  exquisite  youth. 

"I'm — sorry!"  said  Thoresby. 

"Yes,  and  you're  trespassing." 

And  then  Thoresby  was  alone  again  in  this  God- 
forgotten  place. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE  sulky,  slatternly  woman  entered  Billy's  room 
with  hot  water  in  a  copper  can.  At  the  same 
time  she  handed  him  a  telegram. 

"  'E  sez  this  is  fer  you."  She  laughed  a  little.  "A 
nice  change  for  us  to  'ave  a  lord  'ere.  Shall  'ave  to 
polish  up  the  'andle  of  the  big  front  door.  Whoo!" 
She  broke  into  one  or  two  sloppy  dance  steps  and  a 
wisp  of  hair  dangled  about  her  shoulders. 

The  telegram  was  not  of  much  importance.  The 
solicitors  asked  to  be  informed  of  his  lordship's  future 
movements.  "No  answer,"  said  Thoresby. 

"Reely! — 'Ere,  did  you  win  or  lose?  We  ain't 
spotted  a  winner  in  this  'ouse — well,  I  dunno.  It's 
a  long  time.  Anything  I  can  do  fer  you  ?"  She  went 
as  she  spoke  to  the  looking-glass  and  smudged  it  over 
with  her  apron. 

"Nothing  else,  thank  you." 

"Easily  pleased,"  she  said  and  threw  up  her  chin. 
But  she  did  not  go  straight  to  the  door.  She  flapped 
and  flicked  here  and  there,  stooping  to  pick  up  pro- 
nounced pieces  of  fluff  and  finally  stopping  in  front 
of  the  bed,  at  which  she  gazed  in  amazement. 

"Well,  strike  me,"  she  said,  "that's  funny." 

31 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Urn!" 

"Oo  made  that  bed?    Must  ha'  bin  the  fairies." 

"No,  it  was  me,"  said  Thoresby. 

The  look  of  astonishment  broadened.  "My  word," 
she  said.  "I  didn't  know  as  'ow  lords  was  useful  with 
their  'ands.  You'll  find  lots  to  do  'ere  if  you're  like 
that." 

She  went  out  and  slammed  the  door,  went  several 
paces  along  the  passage  with  floppy  heels,  returned, 
opened  the  door  and  shut  it  very  quietly.  It  was  her 
first  concession  to  law  and  order  for  a  considerable 
time. 

Thoresby  laughed.  The  effort  hurt  him.  He  no- 
ticed that  he  felt  almost  painfully  hungry.  No  lunch- 
eon had  made  its  appearance  and  no  tea.  He  had 
wandered  about  for  hours  alone.  There  had  been 
no  sign  of  life  in  the  house  or  out  of  it.  The  stables 
were  empty  and  so  were  the  kennels.  Stinging 
nettles  grew  everywhere,  on  the  top  of  old  walls, 
through  the  chinks  in  the  paving  stones,  everywhere, 
and  for  companions  they  had  dandelions,  exuberant- 
ly green. 

Once,  as  he  stood  miserably  alone  and  looked  out 
at  the  panorama  of  sky  across  which  black  clouds 
were  unrolling,  he  felt  a  sudden  irresistible  desire  to 
go,  to  get  back  to  London,  to  make  one  of  all  its 
thousands,  to  see  things  moving  quickly  and  moving 
with  noise.  The  appalling  stillness,  the  hideous  decay 
of  the  place  got  on  his  nerves.  Then  he  remembered 
that  he  was  more  or  less  without  friends,  that  it  was 
necessary  for  him  to  get  free  board  and  lodging  until 

32 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

his  solicitors  produced  something  tangible.  And  then 
the  curious  fun  of  the  thing  struck  him — a  waster  in 
a  wasted  place.  There  was  something  right  about  it 
all. 

He  was  putting  the  stud  into  his  dress  shirt  when 
his  door  was  flung  open  boisterously.  Tony  Okehamp- 
ton  appeared,  wrapped  in  an  amazingly  filthy  dressing- 
gown  without  a  rope.  He  had  obviously  just  emerged 
from  a  cold  bath.  His  curly  fair  hair  was  wet  and 
his  cheeks  were  stung  into  a  sort  of  healthiness.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  the  old  Tony  Okehampton  about 
him.  "My  dear  old  boy,"  he  cried,  "you  must  think 
me  infernally  remiss!  I  ought  to  have  told  you  at 
once  how  sincerely  I  deplore  your  great  loss.  To  lose 
one's  father — by  Jove!"  He  laid  his  hand  on  Billy's 
shoulders.  He  was  very  much  in  earnest. 

"Thanks,  Tony." 

"At  the  same  time,  old  boy,  hearty  congratulations. 
It's  a  dashed  useful  thing  to  be  a  peer  even  in  these 
days.  I  suppose  you're  a  very  warm  man  now,  eh? 
What  is  it,  six  houses,  isn't  it,  and  a  matter  of  five 
to  seven  thousand  a  year?  How  about  a  hundred  on 
account,  old  chap?"  He  roared  with  laughter  to  gild 
the  pill.  "Oh,  look  here,  I  tell  you  what.  I'll  toss 
you  double  or  quits,  sudden  death." 

As  Billy  got  into  his  shirt  he  put  his  friend  in  pos- 
session of  a  few  salient  facts  in  the  fewest  and  best 
chosen  words  of  his  inimitable  dictionary  in  which 
such  phrases  as  "broke  to  the  bally  wide"  came  in 
more  than  once. 

Whereupon  Tony  Okehampton  let  out  a  mighty  guf- 

33 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

faw.  "By  God,"  he  said,  "this  gives  me  a  healthier 
feeling.  There's  nothing  to  get  out  of  you,  old  boy, 
so  we  can  treat  each  other  fairly  and  squarely.  No 
finesse,  you  know,  or  any  of  that  damn  rot.  Man 
to  man  and  so  forth — dash  my  buttons,  what  do  I  see 
you  doing?  Getting  into  evening  clothes,  here.  All 
right.  Yes.  Excellent  notion!  Let's  be  little  swells 
again.  Let's  put  on  our  best  bibs  and  tuckers  and 
be  English  landed  gentry.  Anything  for  a  change. 
I'll  dash  out  and  tip  the  wink  to  the  others.  I've  got 
about  thirty  suits  of  dress  clothes  somewhere  or  other. 
With  a  bit  of  faking  I  daresay  they'll  look  presentable. 
It'll  be  like  sticking  on  fancy  dress." 

He  left  the  room  excitedly,  boisterously,  and  as  he 
went  down  the  passage  he  broke  into  a  song,  an  old 
song  of  the  Albert  period,  "Champagne  Charlie  is  my 
name " 

Lord  Thoresby  looked  at  himself  in  the  starred 
glass.  A  peculiarly  sour  grin  was  on  his  face.  "Well, 
Gee!"  he  said.  "There  it  is.  It's  life.  Only  the 
angels  die  young.  I  daresay  I  shall  be  able  to  put  in 
a  fairly  amusin'  time." 

He  went  down  looking  more  horsy  than  ever  in 
a  dinner  jacket  and  very  tube-like  trousers,  scrupu- 
lously pressed.  His  black  hair  was  brushed  straight 
back  without  a  parting.  No  seal's  back  was  smoother 
or  glossier.  There  wasn't  a  gray  hair  to  be  seen. 
Men  who  live  by  their  wits  become  gray  much  later 
in  life  than  earnest,  unimaginative  persons. 

Like  most  Micawbers,  his  most  valuable  stock  in 
trade  was  an  incurable  power  of  quick  recovery.  He 

34 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

was  now  quite  prepared  to  accept  the  new  Tony  Oke- 
hampton.  Crying  over  spilt  milk  was  a  hobby  in 
which  he  never  indulged.  Life  was  short  and  could 
only  be  lived  once.  Death  was  an  endless  business. 

He  made  his  way  into  the  hall  in  excellent  spirits 
with  a  lively  appetite.  He  saw  at  once  that  some  at- 
tempt had  been  made  to  clean  the  place  up.  The  cor- 
sets had  disappeared.  Much  of  the  dust  had  been 
flapped  away  and  the  rugs  were  straight. 

Thoresby  started  a  cigarette.  He  was  evidently 
himself  again  and  that  was  something.  He  now  rather 
liked  the  arrant  bohemianism  of  this  place. 

The  sound  of  high  heels  on  the  stairs  caught  his 
ears.  He  saw  a  woman  who  might  have  been  the 
leader  of  a  post-impressionist  set  coming  down.  Her 
pale,  clever  face  was  thickly  powdered  and  her  red, 
thick  mat  of  hair,  streaked  with  gray,  was  arranged 
in  studious  disarrangement.  Her  black  bodice  was 
daringly  cut,  and  a  long,  black,  soft  train  pattered  be- 
hind her.  She  looked  rather  like  a  French  actress  or 
a  hostess  of  the  official  Radical  party.  She  was  very 
tall  and  her  head  was  noticeably  big.  There  was  a 
distinct  air  about  her,  and  the  angle  of  her  head  was 
precocious  and  self-conscious.  She  came  forward  with 
outstretched  hand.  "Beautiful  weather  for  the  ducks 
— I  don't  think !"  she  said.  "Welcome,  my  dear  lord. 
Welcome  to  an  effete  country  in  which  King  Anarchy 
reigns  supreme." 

"Thanks  so  much,"  said  Thoresby.  His  healthiness, 
his  shortness  of  hair  seemed  amazingly  out  of  place 
and  banal. 

35 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"And  so  you're  Billy  Russon,  Captain  of  Les  Ras- 
taqueueres.  L'homme  s'amuse." 

Thoresby  showed  his  white  teeth.  He  looked  rather 
like  a  well-bred  terrier  under  the  pressure  of  a  sym- 
pathetic hand. 

"You  must  meet  my  gels." 

"I  have,"  said  Billy,  and  laughed.  It  astonished 
him  a  little  to  think  how  seriously  he  had  taken  their 
gymnastic  exercises. 

"I  think  that  you  will  find  them  somewhat  out  of 
the  common,  although  I  say  it  as  shouldn't.  Our  chil- 
dren owe  more  than  people  think  to  heredity  and  en- 
vironment." 

"Quite,"  said  Billy.  "It's  most  kind  of  you  to  put 
me  up,  Mrs.  Tony." 

"To  whom  should  the  old  door  of  the  Okehamptons 
open  if  not  to  you  ?  Bon  chien  chasse  de  race.  Would 
you  please  ring  the  bell?" 

Thoresby  did  so. 

Presently  their  conversation  was  disturbed  by  the 
nervous  approach  of  a  cross-eyed  girl  who  flipped  her 
fingers  nervously  and  shot  her  joints.  Black  stockings 
with  great  holes  at  the  heels  hung  loosely  over  her 
shoes.  She  was  built  on  big  lines  and  wore  no  stays. 
There  was  something  Shakespearean  about  her.  She 
might  have  been  handmaiden  to  Falstaff.  It  seemed 
useless  for  her  to  endeavor  to  focus  anything  and  so 
she  looked  both  ways. 

"Now,  Emily,  attend  to  me  carefully.  Whatever 
your  mother  may  say  or  whatever  may  be  the  duties 
on  which  you  are  at  present  occupied,  I  wish  you  to 

36 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

go  over  the  fields  to  King's  Redesborough  at  once, 
obtain  and  pay  for  a  bottle  of  my — usual  medicine. 
Have  you  got  any  money?" 

A  slow  smile  stole  over  the  great  face.     "No'm." 

Mrs.  Tony  turned  to  Billy.  "Lend  me  seven  and 
sixpence,  will  you?"  she  said. 

"I— I'll  just  see  if- 

Thoresby  did  not  bring  out  all  the  money  that  was 
in  his  pocket.  He  thought  it  would  create  a  bad  prece- 
dent. He  sorted  out  three  half  crowns  from  the 
change  for  a  five  pound  note  and  put  them  in  Mrs. 
Okehampton's  much-lined  and  not  too  steady  palm. 

"Many  thanks,"  she  said.  "Make  no  mistake  about 
this,  Emily." 

"No'm." 

As  soon  as  the  girl  had  shuffled  away  Mrs.  Tony 
turned  with  a  smile  to  her  new  and  convenient  friend. 
"I'm  what  is  erroneously  called  a  morphia  maniac," 
she  said.  "Okehampton  has  his  beer,  you  your  whisky, 
I  my  morphia,  the  cows  their  grass,  the  rabbits  their 
succulent  weeds,  and  the  angels  their  incense.  Life 
needs  its  compensations." 

Someone  stood  at  Thoresby's  elbow. 

"Darling,"  said  Mrs.  Tony,  "this  is  our  old  friend 
Lord  Thoresby.  Billy,  my  eldest  daughter,  christened 
Lavender  by  a  sentimental  male  parent,  but  commonly 
known  as  Dick." 

"Because  I  ought  to  have  been  a  boy,"  said  Dick. 

Ought  to  have  been  a  boy!  This  delicious  and 
charming  creature  whose  golden  hair  brought  light 
into  the  old  hall  and  whose  large  gray  eyes  would 

37 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

draw  to  them  a  small  army  of  eager  and  hungry  men. 

Billy  drew  in  his  breath.  He  did  not  recognize  in 
this  sedate  and  almost  prim  angel  the  wild-cat  who 
had  shrieked  beneath  his  window. 

"Where's  Harry?"  asked  Mrs.  Tony. 

"Here,"  said  a  voice. 

Down  the  stairs  came  the  other  little  animal,  no 
longer  with  blood  upon  her  dark  face,  no  longer  with 
loose  strands  of  black  hair,  no  longer  compressed  into 
a  tight-fitting  jersey  which  showed  her  budding  fig- 
ure. She  was  now,  like  her  sister,  an  Okehampton, 
a  dark-eyed  little  lady  with  a  curious  half  smile  play- 
ing around  her  full  lips. 

"Harry,  darling!  Come  and  be  presented  to  the 
aristocracy." 

And  then  Tony  charged  down  upon  them  in  all 
the  glory  of  evening  clothes.  His  collar  was  of  an 
ancient  period  and  his  shirt  far  from  pristine.  His 
jacket  had  obviously  been  worn  while  grooming  a 
horse.  Short  stiff  hairs  stuck  to  it.  His  trousers  be- 
longed to  another  suit  and  had  been  used  for  car- 
pentry. But  the  man  inside  these  clothes  was  the  old 
Tony  Okehampton,  sunny  and  gay  and  debonair. 

"Dinner  is  served,"  said  the  bedraggled  woman, 
wiping  her  hands  on  her  dirty  apron. 

A  strong  smell  of  boiled  rabbit  came  into  the  hall. 

Tony  laughed,  a  huge  laugh.  "We  shoot  our  own 
dinners  nowadays,  Billy,"  he  said.  "The  butchers 
have  struck." 


CHAPTER   VI 

WHEN  Thoresby  went  up  to  bed  that  night — 
got  away,  as  he  inwardly  put  it — he  took 
with  him  a  mass  of  confused  impressions. 
His  mind  retained  pictures  of  a  young,  half  formed, 
dark  and  sensual  girl  sitting  in  a  high  backed  Jacobean 
chair  very  quietly,  very  silently  making  eyes  at  him 
like  any  Budapesth  dancing  girl ;  of  another  as  young, 
but  for  a  year,  of  so  different  a  type  as  almost  to  be 
unrelated,  crunched  up  in  the  corner  of  a  big  settee 
buried  in  the  pages  of  Kim,  one  foot  tucked  under 
her,  a  look  on  her  face  of  ecstatic  concentration.  The 
pictures  he  had  in  his  mind  of  his  host  were  moving 
pictures,  because  the  man  was  hardly  still  for  a  mo- 
ment. His  delight  at  having  under  his  roof  someone 
who  was  neither  a  yokel,  sycophantic  for  beer,  nor  a 
bounder  from  the  town  who  became  familiar,  made 
Tony  almost  boyish.  A  bottle  of  whisky  bought  with 
money  borrowed  from  his  guest — Thoresby's  small 
funds  were  becoming  rapidly  depleted — unlocked  the 
rusty  hinges  of  his  memory.  With  immense  gusto, 
with  the  vividness  of  a  Frenchman,  he  went  back  over 
the  old  days,  revived  old  names  and  old  deeds,  walked 
again  over  old  spots,  repeated  old  jokes  and  acted  old 

39 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

scenes.  The  hall  rang  with  laughter  and  echoed  with 
the  excited  footsteps  of  the  man  who  found  it  tem- 
peramentally impossible  to  remain  in  one  chair  for 
longer  than  a  moment.  These  were  very  pleasant  pic- 
tures until  the  central  figure  gradually  became  soaked 
and  sodden,  foul-mouthed  and  unspeakably  coarse.  But 
the  pictures  which  would  not  easily  be  rubbed  out  of  his 
brain  were  those  of  the  woman  with  the  heavily  pow- 
dered face  and  eyes,  which  became  almost  supernat- 
urally  bright  under  the  effects  of  a  new  dose  of 
morphia.  He  had  watched  her  during  dinner — the  so- 
called  dinner — fall  gradually  into  a  dull  and  torpid 
condition,  broken  by  sudden  fits  of  shivering  and  jerki- 
ness  and  irritability.  He  had  watched  her  revive  after 
the  meal  like  an  apparently  dead  log  fire  energetically 
blown  up  with  bellows.  She,  too,  had  a  sort  of  flair 
and  talked  brilliantly  and  epigrammatically,  quoting 
innumerable  books  of  which  ordinary  women  know 
and  ought  to  know  nothing,  bursting  into  French  and 
Italian  and  touches  of  Spanish,  and  finally,  when  at 
the  top  of  her  unnatural  form,  taking  the  center  of 
the  stage  and  all  the  limelight — to  Tony's  ill-suppressed 
annoyance  and  Harry's  sneering  amusement — and  re- 
citing the  pretended  hunchback's  speech  about  the 
wind  from  "Les  Buttons"  in  perfectly  pronounced 
French.  It  was  a  tour  de  force,  a  most  artistic  thing, 
proving  the  woman  to  be  possessed  of  great  talent  and 
a  fine  memory.  Flattered  by  Thoresby's  genuine  ad- 
miration, she  gave  an  inimitable  imitation  of  Sarah 
Bernhardt  in  "Frou-Frou"  and  of  Yvette  Guilbert 
singing  "Les  Cloches  de  Nantes."  It  was  vastly  en- 

40 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

tertaining  and  a  little  pitiful.  And  then,  as  the  effects 
of  the  drug  worked  off,  she  fell  away  and  eyed  Tony 
venomously,  pricking  and  stabbing  him  with  the  most 
outrageous  sarcasm,  finally  becoming  dull-eyed  and 
hard-mouthed  and  noisily  silent. 

Thoresby  sat  on  his  bed  for  some  time  thinking 
these  things  out,  wondering  speculatively,  now  entirely 
without  emotion,  how  soon  after  Tony's  marriage  the 
jetta  settled  upon  him  and  his.  It  was  half  past  twelve 
before  he  got  up.  His  window  was  open  and  the 
draught  had  made  his  one  candle  gutter.  The  bed 
was  untempting,  the  room  full  of  evil  spirits.  But 
the  man  who  had  been  glad  enough  to  shake  down  in 
doss-houses  in  the  slums  of  New  York  and  stretch 
himself  out  on  the  burned  grass  of  the  prairie  gave 
no  thought  to  these  things.  A  great  silence  had  fallen 
upon  the  house. 

He  was  just  going  to  take  off  his  coat  when  his 
door  opened  cautiously  and  the  two  girls  came  in  with 
their  eyes  dancing  with  mischief. 

"Gee!"  he  said  with  his  little  affected  touch  of 
Americanism.  "I  thought  you  kids  were  in  bed  ages 
ago." 

"Bed  be  hanged!"  said  Dick.  "We  never  go  to 
bed." 

"Never  go  to  bed?" 

"Not  much.  The  best  part  of  the  day's  the  night. 
We  join  the  fairies  over  the  cross  and  see  things  that 
no  one  else  dreams  about." 

"Oh,"  said  Harry,  "we  just  camp  out  because  it's 
better  than  nothing,  and  going  to  bed  like  a  silly  fool 

41 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

citizen  bores   us  up  to  the  neck.     Tip  us  a  decent 
cigarette,  cockie." 

"Meaning  me?"  asked  Thoresby. 

"Why  not?"  laughed  Harry,  slipping  her  arm 
through  his.  "Come  on  now.  Buck  up!  You  look 
as  though  you  smoked  something  decent  in  the  way 
of  Egyptians,  drugged  for  choice." 

"Well,  don't  smoke  'em  here,"  said  Dick.  "Come 
on  the  hill  with  us  and  listen  to  the  stars.  Will  you, 
lord?" 

Thoresby  was  under  the  impression  for  the  mo- 
ment that  they  were  pulling  his  leg.  "Is  this  a  gen- 
uine invitation?"  he  said.  "Are  you  really  going  out 
on  this  hill  of  yours  at  this  time  of  night?" 

"Well,"  said  Dick,  "we're  not  born  harpists.  We 
only  twang  the  instrument  when  it  pays  us  and  then 
we're  experts.  Shove  on  a  hat.  Never  mind  about 
a  coat  and  come  and  be  taught  how  to  spend  the  night. 
See  the  day  break  and  hear  the  winds  wake  up  and 
feel  the  dew  on  your  hair." 

"All  right,"  said  Thoresby. 

"Bully  for  you,"  said  Harry,  and  made  a  rush  at 
his  shirt  case.  "Where  are  these  much-talked-of  cigar- 
ettes of  yours?"  She  flung  out  his  clothes  recklessly 
and  pitched  his  collars  about  and  tossed  a  comb  into 
the  fireplace. 

"Go  easy!"  said  Thoresby.    "Go  easy!" 

She  pounced  upon  a  box  of  cigarettes  with  a  chuckle 
of  delight.  "Come  and  watch  me  smoke  fifty  of 
these,"  she  said,  "while  you  wait."  She  smacked  her 
lips.  "Oh,  this  is  great!" 

42 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Thoresby  began  to  feel  that  he  was  back  again 
among  cowboys.  He  picked  up  his  cap  and  made  a 
move  toward  the  door.  Harry  seized  him  around  the 
neck  and  kissed  him  on  the  face.  "You're  a  bally  ac- 
quisition," she  said. 

"Tiptoes!"  whispered  Dick.  "We  don't  want  old 
Tony  to  hear  us.  He'd  put  his  head  out  of  the  win- 
dow and  shout  like  a  brickee." 

And  so,  rather  like  a  school-boy  breaking  out  of 
bounds,  Billy  obeyed  orders,  followed  the  experts 
softly  along  the  passage.  He  gathered  that  their 
father  slept  in  the  bachelor  wing,  and  made  his  way 
with  them  out  into  the  night. 

The  moon  was  high  and  almost  full.  Everything 
was  outlined  with  silver.  The  stars  almost  made  him 
giddy,  they  seemed  to  be  so  near  and  there  were  so 
many  of  them.  There  was  hardly  a  suggestion  of 
wind  and  nothing  moved.  The  two  girls  danced  like 
spirits  in  front  of  him.  The  moonbeams  on  Dick's 
golden  hair  seemed  to  light  the  way.  They  made  their 
way  across  the  gardens,  tramping  carelessly  over  beds 
and  kicking  everything  from  the  sheer  love  of  life. 
Then  they  went  through  a  gate  in  the  wall  and  up 
a  steep  and  narrow  path  glistening  with  pieces  of 
chalk  and  soft  with  dead  leaves.  At  first  it  was  bor- 
dered with  the  wall  on  the  left  and  a  great  hedge  on 
the  right  and  almost  roofed  in  with  the  heavily  leaved 
branches  of  trees.  And  then  it  opened  out  to  a  hill 
which  ran  up  alongside  the  beech  forest,  among  whose 
countless  branches  there  was  not  a  single  whisper. 
Thoresby  was  puffing  for  breath  before  he  joined  the 

43 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

two  slight  figures  at  the  top,  which  were  silhouetted 
against  the  gleaming  sky. 

"How  much  further?"  he  asked. 

"Ten  yards,"  said  Dick. 

"Half  a  mile,"  said  Harry,  and  on  they  went  again 
in  front  of  him,  dancing,  with  their  arms  waving 
above  their  heads  like  demented  Russians,  self-made 
Pavlovas.  Every  moment  Thoresby  expected  them  to 
be  joined  by  a  filmy  army  of  dryads  and  wood  nymphs. 
He  was  not  so  young  as  he  used  to  be  and  consequently 
a  little  stiff  in  the  joints  and  he  was  not  a  little  glad 
to  find  himself  at  the  top  of  the  hill. 

His  peculiar  companions  were  not  to  be  seen. 
Thoresby  grinned.  "By  Jove !"  he  thought.  "They've 
tricked  me.  This  is  one  of  their  little  jokes.  They've 
dragged  me  up  here  to  lose  me." 

And  then  a  voice  said:  "Oh,  come  on,  cockie! 
Come  on,"  and  he  saw  a  hand  waving.  He  went  for- 
ward onto  the  very  lip  of  the  hill,  stood  giddily  there 
and  became  aware  of  the  fact  that  the  two  girls  were 
squatting  over  an  unlighted  fire  of  sticks  in  a  chalky 
dip,  a  sort  of  little  landslide.  He  climbed  down  cau- 
tiously, trying  to  keep  his  clothes  clean,  and  sat  on  a 
boulder  of  grass. 

Stretched  out  below  and  running  up  in  the  distance 
to  the  sky  was  a  huge  stretch  of  country,  a  patchwork 
of  meadow  land  and  cultivated  fields  divided  into 
squares  and  oblongs  by  black  lines  of  hedges  and  trees. 
Here  and  there  the  moon  showed  him  the  roofs  of 
villages,  under  some  of  which  sparkled  little  lights. 
Far  away  the  starry  sky  seemed  to  fall  upon  a  fringe 

44 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

of  trees.  He  felt  as  though  he  were  sitting  in  the 
middle  of  a  great  ball  exquisitely  painted  and  full  of 
air.  He  held  onto  the  boulder  to  keep  himself  from 
sliding  down.  He  wanted  to  laugh  and  quote  poetry. 
It  seemed  to  him  for  a  moment  that  his  checkered 
years  had  never  happened.  He,  too,  was  just  a  sort 
of  thing,  half  human,  half  bird,  that  had  come  out 
of  a  hole  or  a  nest  to  chirp  and  chatter. 

The  two  girls  wrangled  shrilly  as  to  whether  they 
should  light  a  fire.  Their  voices  struck  a  discordant 
note.  It  was  settled  that  a  fire  should  not  be  lighted  and 
another  silence  came.  Even  these  two  astonishing 
creatures  who  had  never  had  a  chance  and  to  whom  this 
God-beloved  spot  was  drearily  familiar  were  made 
dumb  by  the  beauty  of  the  night.  It  was  very  warm. 
Hot  air  seemed  to  be  rising  from  the  valley.  The 
moon  was  directly  over  their  heads,  and  when  Dick 
flung  herself  full  stretch  it  showed  up  even  the  gray- 
ness  of  her  eyes. 

Billy  Thoresby  felt  ridiculously  emotional,  like  a 
man,  who,  years  after  she  is  dead,  hears  a  hymn  that 
his  mother  used  to  sing.  He  felt  that  after  all  his 
rolling  years,  England  was  at  his  feet;  the  old  coun- 
try, home.  He  let  his  eyes  feast  slowly  over  the  wide 
panorama.  One  by  one  the  winking  lights  went  out 
as  he  looked.  They  had  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  eyes 
of  friendly  fairies,  resting  on  him  kindly.  He  looked 
into  the  wood  which  ran  down  into  a  hollow  at  his 
left.  He  could  only  see  the  tops  of  the  trees.  They 
were  divided  by  a  road  running  up  the  other  side  of 
the  hill.  It  looked  like  a  nigger's  head  parted  in  the 

45 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

center.  He  must  have  sat  watching  and  listening  for 
an  hour,  utterly  forgetful  of  the  presence  of  the  two 
girls.  It  was  then  that  Harry  crawled  up  to  him  and 
nestled  closely  and  put  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  Her 
dark  eyes  glinted  like  stars.  She  was  very  warm. 

"Dick's  asleep,"  she  said  under  her  voice.  "I  want 
to  speak  to  you." 

"Oh,"  said  Billy,  and  cleared  his  throat,  "all  right." 
How  old  was  this  child? 

"I  knew  you'd  come.  I've  dreamed  about  this.  I 
swear  I  have,  night  after  night." 

"How  weird!"  said  Billy.  He  was  just  a  little  un- 
comfortable. The  girl  might  have  been  his  wife. 

"No,  it  isn't.  My  dreams  always  come  true.  I'm 
— I  forget  the  word,  but  there  is  one.  Dick  calls  it 
cranky,  mother  imaginative,  and  Tony  ruddy  non- 
sense. You  know  Tony!  He's  an  absolute  British 
working-man,  except  that  he's  a  poacher  and  a  wrong 
'un  to  his  boots.  But  don't  let's  talk  about  unpleasant 
things.  Let's  talk  about  you." 

Billy  laughed  a  little.  This  was  ingenuousness  run 
mad.  His  hand  was  caught  up  and  pressed  to  a  round, 
firm  cheek  and  the  girl  wriggled  a  little  closer. 

"You're  going  to  do  something  for  me,"  she  said, 
"the  one  big  thing  that  I've  longed  for.  That's  why 
I  cried  so  fearfully  for  having  been  caught  fighting 
Dy  you."  She  kissed  his  hand  several  times  fiercely. 
"You're  going  to  take  me  out  of  this  to  London  and 
wherever  you  go." 

"My  good  kid,"  said  Billy,  "what  in  the  world  are 
you  talkin'  about?" 

46 


• 

'I'm  telling  you,'  she  said,  'it's  got  to  be.     I  dreamed  it.'" 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

She  scrambled  up  onto  her  knees  and  faced  him, 
putting  her  arms  around  his  neck.  "I'm  telling  you," 
she  said,  "it's  got  to  be.  I  dreamed  it.  I'm  going 
away  with  you  out  of  all  this.  You're  going  to  give 
me  clothes  to  wear  and  scent  and  very  thin  shoes  with 
high  heels  and  money  to  have  my  hair  curled  properly. 
You  are !  You  are !"  She  bent  forward  suddenly  and 
kissed  him  on  the  lips  and  all  her  young  body  lay 
against  him. 

For  a  moment  Billy  was  carried  away.  The  ap- 
parent fatality  of  the  thing,  which  seemed  to  her  to 
be  so  cut  and  dried,  made  words  impossible.  For  a 
moment  his  breath  came  quickly  and  his  heart  beat 
heavily.  In  her  present  mood  this  girl  was  very  soft 
and  tender  and  exquisitely  young  and  Billy  was  a  past 
master  in  the  art  of  enjoying  everything  that 
came  his  way.  Then  he  thought  of  Tony,  his  old 
friend,  and  he  held  the  girl  away  from  him  by  main 
force. 

"Now,  now,"  he  said,  "now,  now.  I'm  old  enough 
to  be  your  father  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  and  I've 
come  to  see  the  view." 

And  then  the  girl  burst  out  into  a  torrent  of  words, 
in  which  he  was  told  that  she  meant  to  go  with  him, 
that  he  had  been  sent  to  take  her  away,  to  lift  her  out 
of  the  immoral  bog  in  which  she  was  living,  to  give 
her  a  chance.  She  didn't  care  whether  he  liked  her. 
He  had  just  got  to  take  her.  She  wouldn't  be  any 
trouble.  All  she  needed  he  could  let  her  have  easily 
enough ;  clothes  and  stockings  and  shoes  and  cigarettes 
and  nice  smelling  stuff  to  put  in  her  bath,  a  maid  to 

47 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

dress  her,  and  excitement.  She  repeated  the  last  word 
over  and  over  again.  Excitement!  Excitement! 
She'd  pay  for  it,  all  right.  Oh,  Lord,  yes,  and  it  was 
perfectly  idiotic  of  him  to  look  shocked  and  silly.  He 
didn't  suppose,  did  he,  that  she  was  a  simpering  little 
school  miss,  after  living  under  the  same  roof  with 
Tony  and  her  mother,  and  meeting  the  only  people 
who  came  near  them,  who  got  drunk  and  talked  be- 
fore her  as  they  talked  before  men? 

She  forced  his  hands  away.  She  was  as  strong  as 
a  little  lioness,  and  laid  her  face  against  his.  "Be 
good!"  she  said.  "Be  good!  Play  the  game.  Be 
a  sport!  Mother  told  me  that  you  were  a  champion 
waster,  so  it's  not  a  bit  of  good  putting  on  frills. 
You're  just  the  man  for  me.  I  shall  only  do  some- 
thing worse  and  bolt  with  the  ticket  collector  at  the 
station  or  some  such  bounder.  I  tell  you  I'm  going 
away  from  here  and  someone's  got  to  take  me,  and 
you're  the  one!  I  tell  you,  I've  dreamed  it." 

It  was  a  very  peculiar  position  to  be  in.  Here  was 
a  child  with  the  mind  of  a  woman — a  sort  of  a  woman 
— absolutely  primeval  in  her  insistence  toward  the 
gratification  of  an  overwhelming  desire,  with  no  more 
self-respect  or  sense  of  right  or  wrong  than  a 
bacchante. 

"But,  my  good  child,"  he  said,  "I  can't  take  you 
away.  It's  impossible.  I'm  broke  to  the  wide.  I 
can't  even  keep  myself.  I  haven't  a  bob  to  jingle  in 
my  pocket.  Besides,  hang  it,  I'm  not  a  baby  stealer! 
And  then  there's  your  father.  Great  Scott! — Look 
here  now,  just  simmer  down  and  talk  sense.  It's  the 

48 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

moonlight."  He  laughed  and  got  up  and  stretched 
himself. 

It  was  no  use.  The  girl  flung  herself  at  him  and 
broke  into  another  and  even  more  incoherent  appeal 
and  demand,  ordering,  imploring,  cajoling,  tempting. 
The  man  had  never  experienced  anything  like  it.  It 
disturbed  him.  He  shouted  out:  "Stop  it!"  and  the 
girl  went  down  in  a  heap  and  burst  into  an  amazing 
fit  of  weeping. 

Thoresby  looked  about  and  expected  the  woods  to 
empty  themselves  of  indignant  people  who  would  ask 
him  what  he  had  done,  what  cruelty  he  had  performed. 
He  expected  to  hear  windows  open  in  the  houses  far 
away  in  the  valley  and  hear  startled  birds  flying  from 
branch  to  branch.  As  it  was,  Dick  woke  up  and 
jumped  up  and  marched  up  to  him  with  her  fists 
clenched  and  asked  what  he  had  been  doing  to  her 
sister.  She  stood  there  like  an  imperious  young  prin- 
cess, like  a  loyal  boy,  like  the  sweetest  girl  he  had 
ever  seen,  with  the  silver  light  on  her  oval  face  and 
her  golden  hair  sparkling.  He  felt  that  if  he  were 
to  tell  this  child  exactly  what  her  sister  had  said 
some  unseen  hand  would  cut  out  his  tongue. 
There  were  oaths  upon  her  lips  but  purity  in 
her  eyes. 

He  just  said  nothing  and  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  Dick  went  down  beside  her  sister  and  wrapped 
her  in  her  arms.  "Harry!  Hal!  Poor  old  duck! 
What's  he  done?  What's  he  said  to  you?  I'll  kill 
him  if  you  like.  I'll  jump  on  his  face."  Other  things 
she  said,  showing  her  great  love  for  the  girl  with 

49 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

whom  she  fought,  and  then  she  was  thrust  aside 
forcibly. 

"Oh,  stow  it!"  said  Harry,  shifting  her  shoulders 
and  sitting  on  her  heels  for  a  minute,  with  her  face 
all  shiny.  "He  didn't  say  anything.  It's  not  his  fault. 
I  suppose  I  can  cry  if  I  like,  can't  I?  You  haven't 
bought  the  bally  earth!" 

She  got  up,  turned  on  her  heel  and  ran  like  a  hare. 
At  the  top  of  the  hill  she  stopped  and  turned  around 
and  broke  into  a  sort  of  dance,  cut  blackly  against 
the  sky,  and  a  trickle  of  laughter  came  into  the  air, 
and  then  she  disappeared. 

Thoresby  breathed  more  freely.  The  whole  thing 
was  like  an  exhibition  of  madness  on  the  part  of  a 
wood  nymph  who  had  found  neat  whisky  in  the  heart 
of  the  wild  flowers  instead  of  dew.  It  was  all  very 
eerie  and  rather  unpleasant. 

"Just  like  Harry!"  said  Dick. 

"Rather  a  weird  kid,  isn't  she?" 

"No,  at  least  not  more  than  most.  That  is,  yes. 
She  is  a  bit.  She  sees  things  and  hears  things  and 
makes  up  things.  She's  really  awfully  clever.  If 
she  had  a  chance,  I  believe  she'd  be  a  great  actress. 
If  she  likes,  she  makes  me  laugh  and  cry.  Where 
are  you  going?" 

"Anywhere.  I  thought  of  going  home  to  bed.  I 
feel  like  being  ordinary  and  commonplace." 

"Oh,  no.  That's  piffle.  Don't  go.  Let's  stay  and 
see  the  sun  rise.  Come  back  to  the  old  spot.  It'll 
be  a  corker  this  morning." 

They  went  back  together.     Dick  sat  down  like  an 

50 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

elf  upon  a  toadstool  hugging  her  knees.  She  undid 
her  hair  and  let  it  all  spill  over  her  shoulders.  A  man 
would  have  had  to  be  a  brute  who  could  have  laid  a 
hand  upon  her.  And  while  they  waited  she  talked, 
she  gabbled,  all  about  herself,  her  thoughts,  and  her 
interpretation  of  life  and  death  and  what  she  thought 
of  God,  and  what  she  meant  to  do  and  be.  She  told 
him  what  the  woods  meant  and  how  the  hills  came 
there,  and  all  her  ideas  were  fragrant  and  very  sweet. 
She  said  that  she  was  going  to  make  heaps  of  money 
and  take  her  father  and  mother  to  London.  They'd 
have  to  go  straight  there,  because  there'd  be  so  many 
people  to  see  them  if  they  didn't.  Father  was  one 
of  the  best  really,  only  he'd  always  had  such  bad  luck, 
and  mother  was  a  genius.  And  she  would  build  a 
little  house,  all  windows,  just  where  they  were  sitting, 
and  escape  sometimes  with  Harry.  And,  all  the  while 
she  babbled  on,  Nature  was  preparing  her  coup  de 
theatre.  The  silver  melted  and  seemed  to  sink  wetly 
into  the  earth.  An  unseen  hand  rubbed  the  long  line 
of  horizon,  leaving  it  all  hazy  like  charcoal  under  a 
big  thumb.  And  then  at  last  there  was  a  touch  of 
gold  which  spread  like  liquid,  and  the  birds  sang,  a 
blackbird  nearby  piping  throatily.  And,  gradually,  a 
new  vague  light  crept  up,  altering  the  colors,  bringing 
out  hitherto  unseen  things,  even  changing  the  whole 
nature  of  the  climate.  A  little  coldish  wind  touched 
their  cheeks  and  stirred  the  girl's  hair.  With  the  ap- 
proach of  day  shadows  ran  away  and  sanity  entered 
the  woods.  It  was  unforgettable. 

It  all  happened  in  silence  so  far  as  the  two  people 

51 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

were  concerned.  They  sat  on,  watchful  until  the  sky 
was  split  and  great  slashes  of  color  came  through. 

Thoresby  said :   "Thanks.     That  was  great." 

Dick  laughed.  "Yes.  I  worked  that  well,  didn't 
I?  Topping  bit  of  stage  management.  I  hope  you'll 
tip  my  men.  A  very  useful  lot  of  stage  hands  and 
scene  shifters,  what?" 

With  daylight  the  girl  had  become  self-conscious 
and  would-be  funny.  It  didn't  suit  her.  She  was  an 
echo  of  Tony. 

They  got  up  simultaneously  and  moved  slowly  back 
up  the  hill  and  down  it,  all  among  the  crinkling  leaves 
of  last  year.  Under  the  hedge  at  the  bottom  they 
saw  a  girl  lying  on  her  right  side  with  her  cheek 
pressed  to  her  right  arm,  which  was  outstretched,  and 
her  knees  bent  double  under  her.  She  was  in  an  orgy 
of  sleep,  with  her  lips  slightly  parted  and  her  long 
black  lashes  etched  on  her  pale  face. 

"Good  Lord!"  said  Thoresby.    "It's " 

"Harry!"  said  Dick.     "Don't  wake  her." 

"Why  not?" 

"She'd  only  hurl  something  at  us.  She's  always 
rather  quaint  when  she  wakes  up.  Let's  go  and  pinch 
some  eggs  from  that  poultry  run  down  there.  They're 
really  rather  succulent,  neat,  out  of  the  shell." 


CHAPTER   VII 

ALTHOUGH  there  was  very  little  else  to  eat  at 
Quennor  than  rabbits  and  eggs,  nothing  to 
drink  except  beer  and  water,  no  soap  in  the 
bathroom,  a  torn  cloth  on  the  billiard  table,  and 
an  atmosphere  charged  with  complete  degeneracy, 
Thoresby  made  no  effort  to  escape.  On  the  contrary, 
he  found  himself  day  after  day  more  and  more  inter- 
ested, although  less  and  less  entertained.  It  was  not 
because  Tony  pulled  himself  together.  After  the  first 
evening  the  pleasure  and  excitement  of  seeing  a  new 
and  civilized  face  went  off  and  Tony  went  his  own 
way  again,  shambling  through  his  days  in  continual 
drunkenness,  and  in  continual  association  with  the 
wasters  of  the  village.  He  frequently  came  home 
merely  to  sleep.  Often  he  was  brought  home  either 
shouting  and  singing,  or  with  legs,  which  were  like 
pieces  of  rope,  dangling  in  the  wind. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  had  of  Mrs.  Tony's  com- 
pany. Sometimes  she  was  to  be  met  flitting  uneasily 
about  the  passages  with  an  ingenious  lack  of  clothing, 
talking  to  herself,  and  laughing  loudly  or  wailing  like 
a  soul  in  torture.  If  Tony  happened  to  be  in  the  hall, 
he  pitched  things  at  her — the  first  things  that  came 
to  his  hand — and  taunted  her  coarsely,  but  always  the 

53 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

dead  white  face  would  come  forward  and  one  or  two 
sentences  of  vitriolic  sarcasm  would  be  left  behind 
which  would  stir  Tony  into  impotent  frenzy.  Often 
murder  would  be  stopped  by  the  two  girls,  who  would 
hold  their  father  back  by  main  force,  cursing-  him. 

Thoresby  saw  very  little  of  the  girls  themselves. 
They  always  seemed  to  be  in  the  throes  of  some 
secret  expedition.  They  disappeared  for  days  together, 
going  out  with  sporting  rifle  and  coming  back  with 
very  mixed  bags.  It  seemed  to  him  that  they  were 
expert  poachers.  In  any  case,  it  was  entirely  owing 
to  their  efforts  that  there  was  anything  to  eat  in  the 
house. 

Thoresby's  one  good  point,  apart  from  an  uncon- 
querable optimism  and  a  settled  good  temper,  was 
that  he  never  lied  to  himself.  He  faced  things 
squarely  and  owned  up.  Wherefore  he  told  himself 
that  he  remained  at  Quennor,  in  the  mad,  degenerate, 
uneasy  atmosphere  of  Quennor,  merely  for  one  rea- 
son. He  was  fascinated  by  Dick.  He  was  as  much 
in  love  with  her  as  he  would  have  been  if  he  had  been 
a  beardless  boy,  and  he  knew,  also,  that  Harry  aroused 
all  his  sensualism.  Then,  too,  he  was  living  rent  free 
and  that  was  something.  He  was  like  a  man  who 
marked  time,  who  found  himself  in  a  sort  of  creek 
that  was  undisturbed  by  the  great  currents  of  the 
sea.  He  was  quietly  waiting  while  his  solicitors 
worked.  Of  course,  he  could  have  obtained  credit 
in  London  on  the  strength  of  his  title,  and  there  were 
a  hundred  dodges  at  his  disposal  by  which  he  could 
have  provided  himself  with  ready  cash.  But  he  was 

54 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

possessed  with  a  sufficient  Gilbertianism  to  become 
respectable  under  his  new  name.  He  went  for  long 
lonely  walks,  discovering  quaint  villages,  lunching  fru- 
gally at  wayside  inns,  becoming  friends  with  village 
children  and  dogs,  always  hoping  to  find  Dick  some- 
where and  always  avoiding  Harry.  He  knew  very 
well  that  he  had  only  to  consent  to  take  her  away  to 
be  her  master. 

The  weather  was  gorgeous.  Hot  day  succeeded 
hot  day.  The  country  lay  under  the  spell  of  per- 
sistent sun  and  tropical  skies. 

He  had  been  in  this  place  a  little  over  a  fortnight 
when  a  thing  happened  for  which  he  had  been  waiting. 
Tony  followed  him  one  morning  and  sat  down  on 
the  burned  grass  above  the  cross  on  the  hill.  He 
cadged  some  tobacco  and  loaded  a  dilapidated  pipe 
with  shaky  fingers.  He  had  never  seen  a  man  with 
eyes  so  bloodshot.  There  was  a  week's  growth  upon 
his  chin.  There  were  patches  of  white  among  the 
golden  stubble. 

"I'm  getting  to  love  this  view,"  said  Billy. 

"Curse  the  place!"  cried  Tony. 

"If  these  woods  were  mine,  I'd  starve  rather  than 
cut  down  a  tree." 

"If  they  were  mine,  there  shouldn't  be  a  ruddy  tree 
left  standing." 

"Aren't  they  yours  ?" 

"Mine?  God,  no!  They're  all  mine,  but  not  a 
damn  branch  belongs  to  me.  There's  not  a  stone,  nor 
a  twig,  not  a  bit  of  chalk,  nor  a  blade  of  grass,  not 
a  haystack,  not  an  uncut  hedge  on  all  my  property 

55 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

that  has  belonged  to  me  for  years.  It's  all  mortgaged 
up  to  the  chimneys." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Billy  quietly. 

The  other  man  sneered.  "Oh,  you  see,  do  you? 
Clever  little  man!  What  a  brain!  Look  here,  Billy, 
it  comes  to  this.  Years  ago  I  put  you  on  your  feet. 
In  my  delightful,  large-handed  way  I  dashed  you  a 
check  for  five  hundred  of  the  best,  which  got  you  out 
of  the  country.  I've  been  able,  somehow  or  other, 
with  the  help  of  a  firm  of  fishy  solicitors,  to  pay  the 
interest  to  the  mortgages  and  so  prevent  their  fore- 
closing, which  is,  of  course,  precisely  what  they  want 
to  do.  This  year  that's  absolutely  impossible,  and  if 
on  Friday  next  I  can't  produce  a  matter  of  three  thou- 
sand quid,  I'm  outed,  lock,  stock,  barrel  and  bung." 

"Gee!"  said  Billy. 

Tony  began  to  talk  more  loudly  and  use  his  hands 
characteristically.  "God  alive,  man!"  he  said,  "ain't 
you  going  to  do  something?  Here  you  are  living  on 
the  fat  of  the  land,  with  the  run  of  my  place,  in  my 
debt  for  a  matter  of  five  hundred  and  interest  for 
twenty-three  years  at  five  per  cent. — and  no  Jew's 
interest  either — and  all  you  can  say — and  I  tell  you 
I'm  on  the  lip  of  Hell — is  Gee!  God's  truth,  that's 
friendship." 

"But,  my  dear  old  man,  what  can  I  do?  I  haven't 
got  a  bean,  and;  even  if  I  could  raise  the  five  hundred, 
it  'ud  only  be  a  drop." 

Tony  began  to  blubber.  "Think  of  me  and  my  wife 
and  little  ones,  with  no  roof,  tramping  the  country 
like  gypsies,  singing  outside  pubs,  Okehamptons  the 

56 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

lot  of  us,  and  all  because  I've  been  a  generous  damned 
fool,  open  as  the  day  to  melting  charity.  That's  what 
it  comes  to,  I  tell  you.  On  Friday  next  there'll  be  a 
procession  of  dirty  little  Jew  stinkers  on  my  doorsteps 
and  out  I  shall  go  with  a  delicate  wife  and  two  beau- 
tiful, fine  gels.  Are  you  going  to  stand  by  and  see 
that  done?  You,  a  peer  of  England?  It  would  be  a 
dirty  shame.  I've  been  your  best  pal.  For  God's 
sake  do  something.  Pawn  yourself.  Use  your  wits. 
They're  keen  enough!  Tide  me  over.  That's  all  I 
ask  you  to  do,  tide  me  over.  I'll  pull  myself  together, 
I  swear  I  will.  I'll  chuck  the  drink  and  get  a  job 
as  an  agent  or  something.  I'll  start  writing  and  make 
a  fortune.  I  can  write.  I'm  a  very  gifted  feller. 
Don't  you  remember  those  parodies  in  The  I  sis?  I 
gave  you  a  chance.  Give  me  a  chance  ?" 

What  could  Thoresby  say?  He  pressed  his  hands 
tightly  together.  A  dozen  futile  ideas  came  into  his 
brain.  "It's  impossible,"  he  said.  "I'm  helpless.  The 
Governor,  knowing  me,  settled  all  the  ready  money 
there  was  on  my  brother.  Apart  from  a  house  or 
two  and  a  collection  of  pictures,  I've  got  nothing. 
Under  the  present  condition  of  affairs  houses  are  a 
drug  on  the  market  and  the  only  way  to  get  rid  of 
pictures  is  to  present  'em  to  galleries."  He  put  his 
hand  in  his  pocket  and  brought  out  a  sovereign,  three 
two-shilling  pieces,  a  sixpence  and  four  pennies. 
"Look,  that's  me.  That's  the  full  strength  of  my 
banking  account." 

Tony  reached  forward  and  took  the  lot.  He  hadn't 
seen  so  much  money  for  a  considerable  time.  "Well, 

57 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

then,  come  and  have  a  drink,"  he  said.  "But  we  shall 
have  to  walk  eight  miles  to  get  it,  because  all  the  pubs 
have  got  bills  against  me  'round  here.  Or,  I'll  tell  you 
what.  Here's  four  and  six.  Go  down  to  the  White 
Cat  in  the  village  and  buy  a  bottle  of  whisky.  We'll 
do  it  in  up  here.  Don't  let  anybody  see  you've  got 
it,  especially  Drusilla.  The  missus  hasn't  been  able 
to  get  her  damned  morphia  for  four  days  and  she's 
rabid.  She's  fallen  back  on  drinking  gun  oil.  Go  on ! 
Do  a  sprint.  I've  got  a  thirst  on  me  I  wouldn't  sell 
for  a  fiver." 

Thoresby  handed  back  the  money  and  shook  his 
head. 

Tony  took  it  and  with  a  burst  of  rage  threw  it 
away,  breaking  into  an  insane  and  hideous  tirade,  in 
the  course  of  which  he  consigned  his  friend  to  every 
sort  of  hell. 

At  the  end  of  it,  when  the  man  was  hoarse  and 
doddering,  Thoresby  got  up  and  left  the  place,  fol- 
lowed by  oaths  and  curses.  He  looked  back  on  the 
turn  of  the  hill  and  saw  Tony  Okehampton  on  his 
hands  and  knees,  hunting  like  a  hog  for  the  pieces 
of  silver. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE  night  before  the  fateful  Friday  found  this 
strange  household  in  a  riotous  frame  of  mind. 
Tony  had  fallen  in  with  one  of  those  under- 
graduates who  had  not  yet  acquired  the  faculty  of 
saying  no.  This  youth  was  bicycling  from  a  neigh- 
boring village  to  the  golf  course  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Chilterns.  He  had  taken  a  wrong  turning  and 
had  just  jumped  off  to  consult  a  home-made  map 
roughly  drawn  by  his  host  when  Tony,  quick  to 
appreciate  the  position,  gave  him  a  view  hallo! 
and  bore  down  upon  him  much  in  the  same  way  as 
a  pirate  used  to  fasten  upon  an  unarmed  trad- 
ing vessel. 

Tony  had  shaved.  It  was  a  stroke  of  luck.  He 
had  also  by  some  strange  chance  changed  his  suit  for 
the  first  time  for  several  months.  He  made  a  fine 
figure  of  a  man  as  he  came  down  the  road  with  a 
smile  of  immense  good  nature  upon  his  face.  "What's 
the  trouble,  sir?"  he  sang  out.  "Can  I  be  of  any 
assistance  ?" 

"It's  all  right,  thanks — only  that  I've  got  off  the 
line  somehow.  I'm  trying  to  find  the  golf  course." 

"Ah!"  said  Tony.  "A  lot  of  men  turn  up  here. 
As  the  Squire  of  this  place  it's  my  privilege  to  put 

59 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

them  right."  He  congratulated  himself  on  having 
worked  that  in  rather  well.  He  was  going  to  move 
Heaven  and  earth  to  earn  a  drink. 

The  youth  was  impressed.  What  wouldn't  he  have 
given  the  Squire  of  such  a  country? — he  himself  be- 
ing the  son  of  a  cotton  spinner  at  Bury,  Lanes,  a  rich, 
blatant,  boasting  sort  of  man  who  had  risen  from 
the  ranks  and  never  been  able  to  shake  off  the  pipe 
clay. 

"Thanks  most  awfully,"  he  said.     "Do  you  golf?" 

"Rather!"  said  Tony.  "Pretty  well  every  day.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  I'm  driving  my  car  over  to  the  course 
during  the  next  hour.  I'm  going  to  lunch  at  the  club, 
cash  a  check  and  play  'round.  I  shall  see  you.  Have 
tea  with  me?" 

"I  should  like  to." 

"Excellent!  After  which  I'll  fix  up  your  bike  at 
the  back  of  the  car  and  bring  you  home.  Peddling 
about  on  these  hills  isn't  much  fun.  Is  that  a  bet?" 

"Quite!" 

"Then  your  road  is  that  way.  Look,  you  see  that 
bunch  of  roofs?  Well,  do  you  see  a  thin  white  line 
beyond  them?  That's  you.  Take  care  of  the  hill. 
They've  just  chucked  some  flints  about.  So-long, 
then." 

"So-long!"  said  the  youth,  who  thought  that  he 
had  never  struck  quite  so  charming  a  man  before. 

"Oh,  wait  a  second,"  said  Tony  laughing.  "Rather 
good  luck  meeting  you.  Got  any  money?  I'm  three 
miles  from  the  house.  I'm  on  my  way  to  give  a  poor 
devil  a  fiver  to  get  to  the  hospital  and,  like  the  flippety- 

60 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

gibbet  that  I  am,  I've  left  the  money  in  another  coat. 
It  would  be  awfully  nice  of  you  to  save  my  walking 
back.  I'll  hand  the  money  back  to  you  at  the  club  as 
soon  as  I  get  there." 

The  undergraduate  was  really  very  delighted.  He 
was  a  Bullingdon  man  and  so  made  a  habit  of  keep- 
ing his  gold  among  his  silver  and  pence.  It  gave  him 
a  touch  of  pleasant  carelessness.  He  could  just  make 
up  the  money. 

"Oh,  Jove,  that's  very  sound,"  said  Tony.  "I  hope 
I  may  say  that  this  was  a  good  accident  for  us  both." 

"Rather!" 

The  undergraduate  won  a  smile  that  would  have 
put  a  tethered  goat  into  a  good  temper. 

And  so  Tony  had  the  enormous  satisfaction  of  get- 
ting properly  drunk  before  midday  on  whisky,  port 
wine,  sherry,  poisonous  brandy,  old  ale  and  vermouth. 
It  was  epoch-making.  He  was  personally  conducted 
to  a  haystack  by  the  boots  of  the  inn  and  dropped  like 
a  sack  of  coals.  There  he  lay  in  the  sun,  with  his 
mouth  open,  until  the  evening,  sleeping  the  sleep  of 
the  just.  A  tramp  found  him  there  and  quietly  ran 
over  his  pockets.  The  imaginary  poor  devil  never  got 
to  the  hospital,  but  the  tramp  was  the  cause  of  there 
being  added  to  the  English  language  several  altogether 
new,  ripe  and  staggering  words  which  would  have 
been  most  helpful  to  pilots  and  other  craftsmen,  espe- 
cially those  who  coach  from  the  towpath.  Tony  re- 
covered some  of  his  good  temper,  however,  when  he 
found  that  half  a  sovereign  had  slipped  through  a  hole 
in  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  was  lying  cosily  in  the 

61 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

lining.  He  returned  to  Quennor  with  a  couple  of 
bottles  of  whisky,  one  of  which  he  handed  with  an 
unwonted  burst  of  generosity  to  his  wife.  It  was 
taken  to  her  by  Harry,  who  helped  herself  to  a  very 
stiff  peg. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  Bury,  Lanes,  did 
not  let  the  occasion  pass  without  doing  credit  to  all 
Bullingdon  men,  past  and  present.  He  would  have 
had  no  lunch  and  been  unable  to  pay  his  green  fee 
but  for  the  services  of  the  member  with  whom  he 
played. 

And  so,  great  merriment  reigned  at  Quennor  that 
night — that  last  night.  Thoresby  had  the  pleasure 
for  the  second  time  of  hearing  Mrs.  Tony  recite.  She 
came  down  to  the  hall  with  an  unfastened  peignoir 
over  her  nightdress.  Her  appearance  was  quite 
Shakespearean.  She  and  the  two  girls  knew  nothing 
and  cared  less  of  the  fact  that  the  following  morning 
would  find  them  all  without  a  roof. 

Careful  to  say  nothing  about  it — every  man  for 
himself — Thoresby  had  that  morning  received  a  wel- 
come contribution  from  his  solicitors  which  would 
pay  his  fare  to  London  and  enable  him  to  take  a  bach- 
elor room  in  or  about  Jermyn  Street.  So  he  was  all 
right  and  that  was  something. 

He  went  to  bed  at  one  in  the  morning,  tied  his 
small  collection  of  banknotes  into  a  pocket  handker- 
chief and  carefully  hid  it  under  the  mattress.  Dear 
old  Tony  had  a  habit  of  wandering  at  night. 

As  a  rule  he  undressed  in  the  dark  or  by  the  light 
of  the  moon,  but  he  had  that  afternoon  found  about 

62 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

an  inch  of  candle  in  one  of  the  other  bachelor  bed- 
rooms. So  he  lit  it  and  indulged  in  a  half  an  hour's 
quiet  reading  as  he  lay  in  bed,  with  the  soft  air  play- 
ing upon  his  face.  His  book  was  Barry  Lyndon,  his 
favorite  book.  He  had  an  immense  admiration  for 
Thackeray's  delightful  creation. 

He  had  just  blown  out  the  wick,  which  was  gut- 
tering in  a  little  pool  of  wax,  when  he  heard  his  door 
open  and  saw  Harry  slip  into  the  room  and  stand  in 
the  moonlight,  a  white  figure  with  an  olive  face.  She 
came  over  and  sat  on  his  bed,  folded  her  arms  and 
looked  at  him  with  a  quietly  determined  smile. 

"I  had  another  dream  last  night,"  she  said.  "I 
dreamed  that  you  leave  here  to-morrow  and  go  to 
London  and  that  you  take  me  with  you.  I'll  meet  you 
at  the  station  in  the  only  decent  clothes  I've  got.  I 
shall  make  you  very  happy."  She  bent  down  and 
kissed  him  and  wound  her  arms  around  his  neck. 


It  was  broad  daylight  before  Tony  picked  himself 
up  from  where  he  had  been  lying  on  one  of  the  rugs 
in  the  hall.  He  made  his  way  out  and  around  to  the 
bachelor  wing  and  upstairs.  He  saw  Harry  dip  out 
of  Thoresby's  room  like  a  swallow  and  disappear.  He 
stood  quite  still  for  a  moment,  chilled  to  the  bone. 
Then  a  desire  to  commit  murder  overwhelmed  his 
brain.  Then  he  drew  up  and  metaphorically  shook 
hands  with  himself  as  he  crept  away  along  the  pas- 
sage. "A  very  useful  night's  work,"  he  said  to  him- 

63 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

self.  "Now  I  think  I  can  make  Master  Billy  pay  up 
that  five  hundred  and  a  bit  over.  A  pickled  rod  is  a 
damned  useful  thing." 

He  threw  himself  on  his  unmade  bed  and  went  off 
to  sleep  with  a  smile  on  his  face. 


PART   II 
CHAPTER   I 

MISS  OKEHAMPTON,  Miss  Emily  Sarah 
Okehampton,  had  lived  at  the  Red  Lodge, 
Sydenham,  for  more  years  than  she  cared 
to  remember.  She  herself  was  a  little,  precise,  essen- 
tially good  woman  with  an  abundance  of  white  hair, 
which  she  endeavored  to  make  the  least  of,  and  a  small 
bird-like  face.  She  had  always  dressed  herself  in 
wide,  rustling  skirts  and  that  was  sufficient  reason 
why  she  should  continue  to  do  so.  She  wore  boots 
with  low  heels  and  patent  tips,  and  black  silk  capes, 
and  bonnets  which  were  scrupulously  unbecoming. 
She  kept  a  small  dog,  which  was  now  very  old,  in 
order  that  she  might  have  something  to  obey  her  com- 
mands. She  kept  a  companion  for  the  same  reason, 
a  spinster  like  herself,  but  not  from  choice.  She  kept, 
also,  an  old  housekeeper,  an  old  coachman,  an  old  foot- 
man, who  waited  at  table  and  cleaned  the  windows 
every  Friday,  and  two  old  horses  which  drove  her  out 
every  afternoon,  if  fine. 

She  had  a  place  for  everything  and  everything  was 
in  its  place.  She  was  a  strict  churchwoman  and  re- 
garded the  Almighty  as  a  very  offensive  creature  who 

65  " 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

kept  a  hell  for  those  unfortunate  people  who  never 
got  over  their  mistakes.  She  agreed  with  this  and 
believed  in  Gladstone.  She  had  a  day  for  everything. 
The  dining-room  was  turned  out  on  Monday,  the 
morning-room  on  Tuesday,  the  drawing-room  on 
Wednesday,  her  bedroom  on  Thursday,  Miss  Smed- 
ley's  rooms  on  Friday — window  day — and  the  hall  on 
Saturday.  She  rose,  unless  indisposed,  at  half-past 
seven  every  morning,  conducted  prayers  in  the  morn- 
ing-room at  half -past  eight  and  breakfasted  at  nine 
punctually.  From  ten  o'clock  until  half-past  ten  she 
read  the  Morning  Post  aloud  to  Miss  Smedley.  At 
half-past  ten  she  interviewed  the  housekeeper  and  cook. 
At  eleven  she  went  forth  with  the  dog  and  Miss  Smed- 
ley, if  fine,  returning  at  twelve  to  write  letters  and 
send  off  newspapers  and  magazines  to  those  of  her 
relatives  who  lived  abroad.  At  one  o'clock  she  went 
to  her  room  to  prepare  for  luncheon,  a  function  which 
was  held  precisely  at  one  thirty.  At  a  quarter-past 
two  she  retired  to  the  morning-room,  where  she  en- 
joyed forty  winks,  until  ten  minutes  to  three.  Miss 
Smedley  then  brought  her  her  bonnet,  cape  and  gloves 
and  in  damp  weather  a  linsey  woolsey  shawl.  With 
her  companion  similarly  garbed  and  carrying  the  dog, 
she  proceeded  along  the  tessellated  path  to  her  car- 
riage and  drove  slowly  around  the  Crystal  Palace 
until  four-fifteen.  Tea  was  at  four-thirty  and  was  a 
gay  meal.  The  rector  sometimes  took  it  with  her 
and  other  old  ladies  living  near.  At  five-thirty  she 
proceeded  to  the  morning-room  for  an  hour's  medita- 
tion, during  which  she  sometimes  read  the  "Cloud  of 

66 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Witnesses"  or  the  sermons  of  eminent  divines.  This 
was  the  hour  in  which  Miss  Smedley  visited  the  post- 
office  in  order  that  the  dog  might  have  a  little  airing 
before  dinner.  Miss  Smedley  understood  dogs  and 
was  very  patient  when  called  upon.  She  was  an  or- 
phan and,  although  her  salary  or  remuneration  was  not 
large,  her  home  was  very  comfortable.  She  was  not 
a  dog  lover  by  nature.  She  preferred  cats,  because 
they  fended  for  themselves.  At  six-thirty  Miss  Emily 
Sarah  Okehampton  went  up  to  her  room  to  dress  for 
dinner  and  returned  at  seven-thirty,  precisely,  wearing 
two  diamond  stars  fastened  accurately  upon  her  black 
silk  bodice,  which  was  cut  high  and  relieved  with 
Irish  lace.  Dinner  was  a  pompous  meal,  conducted 
with  great  gravity.  The  footman  wore  the  family 
livery  and  pumps.  Even  the  dog  was  not  permitted 
to  make  his  appearance  until  the  dessert  arrived,  when 
he  invariably  sat  on  Miss  Emily  Sarah  Okehampton's 
right  side  and  received  several  tit-bits  which  had  been 
held  back.  At  eight-thirty  an  adjournment  was  made 
to  the  drawing-room,  where  Miss  Okehampton  en- 
joyed the  Church  Times  and  other  responsible  organs, 
while  Miss  Smedley  played  a  symposium  of  national 
airs  upon  the  upright  piano.  At  ten  o'clock,  to  the 
moment,  the  housekeeper  entered  to  inform  Miss  Oke- 
hampton that  the  hot  water  bottle  had  been  placed  into 
her  bed,  whereupon  Miss  Okehampton  led  the  way  to 
the  morning-room  for  evening  prayers.  At  half-past 
ten  the  only  lights  in  the  house  were  in  the  bedrooms, 
and  at  eleven  o'clock  everything  was  in  darkness. 
Of  the  Red  Lodge  itself  it  is  hardly  necessary  to 

67 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

speak.  The  Christian  names  of  the  worthy  lady  who 
lived  in  it  are  in  themselves  almost  a  sufficient  descrip- 
tion of  its  furniture  and  appointments.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  there  were  ornaments  in  glass  cases,  fire- 
screens worked  in  worsted,  ormolu  clocks  which  told 
the  age  of  the  moon,  the  day  of  the  month  and  several 
other  things  equally  important,  including  the  time. 
The  chairs  had  antimacassars,  and  the  bedrooms, 
texts.  There  were  chandeliers  with  ringlets  of  glass 
and  much  heavy  furniture  of  highly  polished  mahog- 
any. The  drawing-room  was  scrupulously  uncomfort- 
able and,  indeed,  the  hand  of  the  Albert  period  was 
stretched  upon  it  all.  The  pictures  were  after  Land- 
seer  and  included  portraits  of  the  royal  family.  Only 
one  picture  had  anything  really  human  about  it,  and 
that  was  a  very  spirited  engraving  of  a  ship's  rescue 
by  lifeboat,  but  this  was  only  seen  by  those  visitors 
who  stayed  in  the  house.  It  filled  them  with  a  sense 
of  adventure  and  self-help. 

The  Red  Lodge  was  surrounded  by  a  garden  of  an 
acre  in  extent.  It  mainly  consisted  of  well-rolled  gravel 
paths,  interrupted  by  squares  of  closely  shaved  lawn. 
Here  and  there  were  patches  of  fir  trees  and  rhododen- 
dron bushes.  There  was  a  small  summer  house  in 
the  shade  of  the  wall.  In  the  season  red  and  white 
geraniums  gave  a  touch  of  color  to  the  place  and  in 
the  spring  the  anaemic,  pale,  spinster-like  blooms  of 
three  laburnum  trees  added  a  note  of  sadness.  Miss 
Emily  Sarah  Okehampton,  together  with  the  Red 
Lodge  and  its  garden,  were  all  under  the  shadow  of 
the  Crystal  Palace.  That  glassy  monstrosity,  unbe- 

68 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

lievably  hideous  in  its  design,  formed  the  keynote  in 
the  character  of  the  maiden  lady  and  of  the  Red  Lodge. 
And  it  was  to  this  house  and  to  this  good  woman, 
as  regular  in  her  habits  as  the  Crystal  Palace  was 
regular  in  its  lines,  that  Dick  was  sent  on  the  break-up 
of  Quennor — Dick  who  had  lived  like  a  lark  or  a 
squirrel — Dick  to  whom  regularity  was  an  unknown 
thing. 


69 


CHAPTER    II 

IMAGINE  a  sunbeam  captured  by  a  scientist  and  put 
into  a  bottle.  Imagine  a  forest  pony  between  the 
shafts  of  a  governess  cart.  Think  of  a  young 
thrush  thrust  into  a  small  wooden  box  with  only  half 
a  dozen  narrow  wires  in  front.  Let  imagination  run 
riot.  Conceive  a  hundred  peculiar,  impossible  and 
even  cruel  juxtapositions  and  not  one  of  them  will 
compare  with  the  impossibility  or  the  cruelty  of  giving 
Dick  into  the  hands  of  Miss  Emily  Sarah  Okehamp- 
ton  of  the  Red  Lodge,  Sydenham — Miss  Okehampton, 
Miss  Smedley,  the  little  old  dog,  the  little  thin  old 
housekeeper,  the  little  plump  old  coachman,  the  little 
fish-like  old  footman  and  the  Red  Lodge,  Sydenham, 
with  its  terribly  correct  clocks,  its  prayers,  morning 
and  night,  its  irrevocable  routine,  its  intense  cleanli- 
ness, its  shining  furniture  and  the  persistent  shadow 
of  that  monstrous  glass  abortion,  that  triumphant 
relic  of  the  antimacassar  period. 

The  break-up  of  Quennor  left  Dick  stunned.  The 
whole  world  seemed  to  have  fallen  about  her  ears. 
Not  to  belong  to  Quennor,  to  the  hills  and  the  woods, 
seemed  like  death.  To  be  separated  from  Harry  was 
like  having  only  one  arm.  To  be  cut  off  from  her 
mother,  who  was  a  genius,  which  accounted  for  every- 

70 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

thing!  Not  to  be  able  to  curse  Tony  and  to  be  made 
to  laugh  by  his  irresistible  coarseness !  What  had  she 
done  to  deserve  it?  It  was  a  revolution.  The  enemy 
had  captured  her  kingdom.  She  was  a  prisoner  of 
war,  and  in  her  wild  way,  her  perfectly  natural,  un- 
controllable way,  she  called  the  Red  Lodge  Hell. 

Miss  Okehampton  was  Tony's  first  cousin,  the  only 
daughter  of  his  father's  brother,  Sir  Almeric  Oke- 
hampton, who  had  sat  on  the  Admiralty  Bench  until 
he  could  neither  see  nor  hear.  Then  he  retired  grace- 
fully to  make  room  for  younger  judges.  A  rumor 
of  Tony's  misfortune  reached  her  by  a  roundabout 
course,  but  it  was  not  until  she  saw  his  name  in  the 
gazette  as  a  bankrupt  that  she  wrote  a  letter  volun- 
teering to  undertake  the  care  of  his  eldest  daughter, 
whom  she  had  never  seen. 

How  Tony  and  his  wife  and  the  two  girls  had  lived 
between  the  enforced  departure  from  Quennor  and 
the  day  upon  which  he  underwent  his  first  examina- 
tion in  bankruptcy  no  one  will  ever  know. 

When  Dick  stepped  silently  out  of  the  carriage  and 
came  up  the  tessellated  path  of  Red  Lodge,  with  the 
great,  wide  eyes  of  a  wild  bird,  her  face  and  neck 
and  hands  were  tanned  like  those  of  a  gypsy  and  her 
golden  hair  was  bleached  by  the  sun.  She  looked  as 
though  she  had  slept  under  haystacks  and  washed  in 
running  brooks  and  tramped  the  countryside.  In  all 
probability  she  had. 

Thoresby,  neatly  encamped  in  a  bed  sitting-room  in 
Jermyn  Street,  was  told  that  Tony  and  Mrs.  Tony 
were  taken  pity  on  by  a  local  butcher  and  put  up  for 


THE    OUTPOST    OF   ETERNITY 

some  weeks,  not  so  much  from  a  sentiment  of  charity, 
as  because,  being  owed  a  few  pounds,  he  thought  it 
good  policy  to  keep  his  creditor  under  his  eye.  He 
heard,  too,  that  Dick  and  Harry  had  run  away  from 
the  little  house  in  the  High  Street  of  King's  Redes- 
borough,  and  had  lived  like  rabbits  in  their  old  woods 
around  Quennor,  and  that  they  had  finally  been  cap- 
tured, kicking  and  struggling,  by  Tony  and  a  dozen 
rustics  who  would  never  forget  their  exciting  girl  hunt. 

The  end  of  it  was  that  Tony  was  offered  temporary 
hospitality  by  a  bachelor  nephew  who  lived  in  White- 
chapel,  where  he  was  attached  to  the  Oxford  House 
Mission;  that  Mrs.  Tony  was  taken  charge  of  by  a 
relation  who  was  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  Woman's 
Suffrage  Movement  and  lived  in  a  bewildered  house 
in  Bloomsbury  Square,  in  which  every  room  was  filled 
with  pamphlets,  banners,  hammers  and  other  imple- 
ments of  hysteria.  Harry  was  placed  by  Thoresby 
in  the  house,  the  garlic-reeking  house,  of  an  Italian 
woman  who  taught  stage  dancing.  It  was  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Wardour  Street.  Dick  thought  it 
was  very  kind  of  him. 

Dick's  first  week  at  Red  Lodge  was  a  nightmare. 
She  took  part  in  the  routine  as  a  convict  takes  part 
in  the  enforced  routine  of  prison  life.  Her  very 
clothes,  purchased  by  Miss  Smedley  ready-made  from 
the  Sydenham  Bon  Marche,  seemed  to  her  to  be  those 
which  are  served  out  to  convicts.  To  the  morning 
and  evening  prayers  she  shut  her  ears,  and  during 
these  times  went  back  to  the  hill  in  spirit  and  put  her 
face  to  the  sun.  For  a  week  she  was  monosyllabic, 

72 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

like  a  person  in  a  foreign  country  who  restricted  her- 
self to  yes  and  no,  barely  understanding  the  language 
that  went  on  around  her.  The  monotony,  the  quietude, 
the  punctuality,  the  utter  respectability  of  each  day 
dulled  her  senses.  The  drives  in  the  afternoon,  with 
her  back  to  the  horses,  and  her  eyes  meeting  those  of 
the  two  elderly  ladies,  which  were  filled  with  a  con- 
stant expression  of  triumphant  pity,  were  almost  un- 
endurable. The  only  hours  that  were  her  own  were 
the  silent  hours  of  the  night,  and  these  were  not  wholly 
hers.  She  had  to  gag  herself  when  she  wept. 

She  got  no  comfort  from  the  suburban  trees,  and 
the  cheeky  note  of  the  sparrow  gave  her  no  refresh- 
ment. To  look  at  the  glistening  hard  lines  of  the 
Crystal  Palace  made  her  shudder. 

During  the  second  week  her  soul  was  filled  with 
the  spirit  of  revolt.  She  spent  each  night  making  elab- 
orate plans  for  escape.  She  would  return  to  her  old 
haunts  and  be  free  again.  But  each  day  deadened  her 
again.  Miss  Smedley  began  to  take  her  in  hand.  It 
was  discovered  that  she  was  lamentably  ignorant  of 
even  the  very  rudiments  of  knowledge.  Her  spelling 
was  deplorable.  Of  arithmetic  she  knew  nothing.  Her 
fingers  had  never  touched  the  keys  of  a  piano,  She 
thought  that  Mendelssohn  was  an  acrobat  and  Handel 
a  lion  tamer.  To  Miss  Smedley's  tearful  consterna- 
tion, she  had  never  read  the  Bible  or  "heard  the  Lord's 
Prayer. 

It  was  realized  by  the  gentle,  narrow  souls  in  Red 
Lodge  that  a  bomb  shell  had  fallen  upon  them. 

It  was  on  the  first  day  of  the  third  week,  when  Dick 

73 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

had  made  up  her  mind  to  climb  out  of  her  window  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  that  a  car,  a  low  lying  tor- 
pedo-shaped car,  stopped  at  the  house,  and  a  young 
man  of  a  fresh,  round,  clean-shaven  face  and  brown 
hair  full  of  obstreperous  kinks  came  into  the  hall  bring- 
ing with  him  a  note  of  humanity  which  sounded  to 
Dick  like  a  breeze  among  her  trees. 

Sub-Lieutenant  John  Calverly  Euston,  second  son 
of  the  late  Field  Marshal  Viscount  Euston,  cut  the 
rope  down  which  she  had  intended  to  slide. 


74 


CHAPTER   III 

TO  Dick  this  boy  was  something  new — something 
altogether  new  and  delightful.  She  had  read 
about  such  boys  in  the  battered  books  which 
had  been  used  as  missiles  by  her  father.  She  had  seen 
drawings  of  just  such  a  boy  in  the  few  illustrated 
papers  which  were  left  at  Quennor,  but  this  was  the 
first  time  that  she  had  met  one  face  to  face.  He  seemed 
to  her  to  be  awfully  clean  and  tidy  and  fit.  His  eyes 
surprised  her.  They  were  so  clear  and  the  whites 
were  so  white.  She  liked  his  shyness.  It  was  funny. 
She  liked  the  half  nervous,  half  cheery  way  he  had  of 
looking  at  her.  She  thought  his  clothes  were  quite  top- 
ping. She  had  never  been  quite  sure  before  that  there 
were  really  men  like  this.  She  had  grown  into  the 
belief  that  her  father  and  his  companions  peopled  the 
earth. 

Young  Euston  had  come  to  make  inquiries  after 
Miss  Okehampton's  health  on  behalf  of  his  mother. 
His  mother  and  Emily  Sarah  had  been  at  school  to- 
gether and  had  kept  up  a  very  close  friendship.  Jack 
wasn't  very  keen  on  the  job.  He  knew  the  house  and 
the  neighborhood,  and  if  there  was  one  thing  which 
made  him  bristle  like  a  terrier  it  was  the  sight  of  the 
Crystal  Palace.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  just  to 
stay  a  quarter  of  an  hour  and  bolt,  but  the  oval  face 

75 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

at  the  window,  with  its  wide,  steady  eyes  and  golden 
hair,  caused  a  sudden  revulsion  of  his  plans.  He  did 
not  leave  his  engine  running  as  he  intended  to  do.  He 
stopped  it  and  he  sat  over  tea  in  the  drawing-room, 
until  Miss  Okehampton  rose  to  go  to  her  meditation. 
He  said  very  little,  actually,  to  Dick,  but  in  describing 
his  life  on-board  H.  M.  S.  Bellerophon  he  looked 
nearly  always  at  her.  He  made  other  eyes  than  those 
of  the  caged  bird  dance.  The  two  old  ladies  had  not 
known  such  pleasure  for  many  months.  The  con- 
tagion of  youth  and  energy  was  irresistible. 

Jack  got  up  reluctantly  and  when  he  said  good-bye 
he  did  a  thing  which  showed  that  his  future  was  full 
of  promise — that  he  might  even  become  an  Admiral. 
He  said  :  "By  Jove,  I'm  most  awfully  sorry.  Mother 
was  frightfully  keen  on  my  bringing  you  a  new  book 
that  she's  gone  on.  I  forgot  it.  Do  you  mind  if  I 
bring  it  out  to-morrow?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Miss  Emily  Sarah,  "it  will 
afford  me  very  great  pleasure  both  to  receive  the  book 
and  yourself."  She  bent  forward  and  kissed  the  boy 
on  his  forehead.  There  was  a  time  when  she  had 
nursed  him  upon  her  knee. 

Dick  sang  a  little  as  she  went  to  put  on  her  hat  in 
order  to  join  Miss  Smedley  in  unwilling  humanitarian- 
ism.  Her  well-laid  plans  of  escape  were  forgotten. 
She  had  something  to  look  forward  to.  Miss  Smedley 
was  surprised  and  extremely  flattered  at  the  girl's  out- 
burst of  chatter.  She  congratulated  herself  upon  hav- 
ing won  her.  She  had  always  known  that  she  ought 
to  have  been  a  mother. 

76 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

The  next  afternoon  came  all  too  slowly,  but  it  found 
Dick  in  front  of  her  looking-glass.  Instinctively  she 
took  more  trouble  with  her  hair.  She  liked  this  boy. 
He  was  a  corker. 

Oddly  enough,  the  book  was  one  which  Miss  Emily 
Sarah  had  read  and  recommended  to  Lady  Euston  in 
one  of  her  letters — those  old-fashioned,  pedantic,  slant- 
ing letters,  the  fourth  page  of  which  was  written  over 
crossways. 

Jack's  laugh  was  heard  by  the  old  horses  in  the 
stable.  "Well,  I'll  tell  you  what,"  he  said.  "I've  never 
been  inside  the  Crystal  Palace  and  so  my  educa- 
tion has  been  neglected.  How  about  my  taking  you 
all  there?" 

Such  a  proposition  staggered  Miss  Okehampton. 
She  regarded  the  Crystal  Palace  as  something  solely 
for  the  edification  and  enlightenment  of  the  populace. 
For  her  to  go  there  would  be  an  all  too  frivolous 
escapade. 

Underneath  her  somewhat  unprepossessing  exterior 
Miss  Smedley  had  a  kind,  if  sour,  heart.  "Cannot 
the  two  young  people  go  together?"  she  ventured.  "It 
would  help  my  pupil  to  see  the  specimens  of  foreign 
trees  and  suchlike."  The  dear  good  woman  was  match- 
making already.  If  she  had  been  as  young  as  Dick, 
the  name  of  that  boy  would  have  been  treasured  in 
her  heart. 

Jack  threw  her  a  grateful  glance  and  labeled  her 
a  sportsman.  Miss  Emily  Sarah  conquered  all  her 
early- Victorian  objections  to  so  harmless  a  proceeding 
and,  a  little  fluttered,  consented.  The  afternoon  was 

77 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

very  bright  and  she  supposed  that  she  really  must  move 
somewhat  with  the  times. 

If  only  the  thrushes  and  blackbirds  and  bumblebees 
and  beetles  who  missed  Dick  so  badly  could  have  seen 
her  dancing-  along  the  prim  road  in  step  with  the  chort- 
ling boy  it  would  have  done  them  good.  It  did  Jack 
good.  There  was  a  touch  of  color  in  the  pale  face 
and  a  very  different  look  in  the  gray  eyes. 

He  didn't  say  a  word  until  he  got  three  hundred 
yards  away  from  Red  Lodge.  Then  he  stopped,  threw 
back  his  head  and  shot  out  a  great  laugh. 

"Who'd  ha'  thought  it?"  he  said.  "By  Gad,  who'd 
ha'  thought  it!  I'd  have  bet  anybody  my  balance  at 
Cox's  against  it.  You  don't  know  Miss  Okehampton." 

"Oh,  don't  I?"  said  Dick. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Okehampton." 

"I'm  Dick,"  she  said.     "What  are  you?" 

"John,  to  uncles  and  aunts.    Jack  to  my  pals." 

"Then  buck  up,  Jack!" 

This  was  good.  These  two  young  things  felt  that 
they  had  known  one  another  since  the  beginning  of 
time.  He  was  a  boy  and  she  forgot  it.  She  was  a 
girl  who  ought  to  have  been  a  boy,  and  the  afternoon 
belonged  to  them  both.  He  paid  the  shillings  and 
went  into  the  place  which  he  had  avoided  like  the 
plague.  They  found  themselves  in  a  long  passage 
with  uncovered  boards  and  sides  plastered  with  adver- 
tisements painted  on  tin.  Just  as  they  were  beginning 
to  think  that  it  would  never  end  it  ended  and  they 
came  out  in  the  very  center  of  this  unnecessary  mass  of 
glass  just  opposite  a  distant  organ.  Its  notes  came  to 

78 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

them  hollowly  and  they  made  out  a  little  black  speck 
writhing  on  a  seat  high  up  in  front  of  it,  a  wilderness 
of  seats,  here  and  there  speckled  with  black,  spread 
out  all  around  it.  Their  view  was  interrupted  by  the 
leaves  of  tropical  trees,  which  looked  to  them  like  great 
despondent  hands  with  many  fingers  and  emaciated 
arms.  Tin  pot  pieces  of  statuary  shivered  among  them 
all  dull  and  sad.  A  broken  chain  of  people  strolled 
here  and  there,  leaving  awaking  echoes  as  they  went. 
They  passed  a  shabby  refreshment  place,  outside  which 
there  were  an  inconceivable  number  of  lonely  tables — 
iron  tables  with  tops  which  once  had  been  white.  Dis- 
consolate waitresses  sat  about  and  yawned. 

They  adventured  further,  passing  stalls  and  kiosks, 
each  with  an  attendant,  whose  listlessness  broke  into 
eagerness  at  the  sight  of  a  human  being — stalls  fitted 
up  as  bedrooms,  or  hung  around  with  ready-made 
clothes  of  atrocious  cut,  or  for  the  display  of  a  new 
invention  for  sharpening  knives.  They  saw  and  heard 
mechanical  piano-players  as  hard  and  as  bright  as  the 
glistening  glass  above  them,  gramophones,  kitchen 
utensils,  sewing-machines,  bassinettes,  leather  trunks, 
soaps  and  scent  bottles,  sweet  stuff,  and  heaven  knows 
what  besides.  And  above  the  sadness  and  despondency 
of  it  all  there  was  the  wailing  organ,  breaking  now  into 
quivering  sobs  and  now  into  deep  rumbles  of  piteous 
appeal.  It  was  appalling;  so  tragic  that  Jack  laughed 
to  keep  himself  company  and  presently  took  Dick's 
arm  and  hurried  her  out  into  the  air. 

The  sun  did  its  best  to  glorify  the  utter  common- 
place of  the  scene  before  them.  There  were  gritty 

79 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

paths  covered  with  pieces  of  paper  and  the  wrappers 
of  chocolates,  and  match  ends,  long  slices  of  turf  in 
terraces  railed  in  squares  of  iron,  and  below  these 
terraces  and  beyond  more  gritty  paths  there  was  a  very 
town  of  ugly,  bright,  small  buildings  and  kiosks  and 
stands  and  foolish  little  rural  places  behind  grottoes, 
inside  which  idiotic  games  were  played,  threepence  en- 
trance fee.  National  flags  were  flying  in  the  breeze, 
and  somewhere  an  indifferent  band  was  playing  a  tune 
long  since  out  of  date.  Away  in  the  distance  there 
were  noble  trees  and  vistas  that  were  almost  countri- 
fied. Half  a  score  of  elderly  men  and  women,  young 
children  and  cockney  boys  and  girls  walked  about  in 
an  aimless  sort  of  way  and  a  few  foreigners  tried  to 
be  merry. 

"Ye  gods!"  said  Jack.  "Just  exactly  what  I  ex- 
pected. I  vote  we  sit  down  and  try  and  forget  it. 
At  any  rate,  this  isn't  Red  Lodge." 

"Not  for  me,"  said  Dick.  "I  think  this  is  absolutely 
wonderful.  Why,  it's  thirty  times  bigger  than  any 
circus  I've  ever  seen.  I'm  going  to  do  everything." 

"Right-o,"  said  Jack.  "It's  up  to  you.  I  got  you 
out  and  that's  the  great  thing." 

Dick  looked  at  him  quickly.  "How  did  you  know  ?" 
she  asked. 

"Well,  I'm  not  much  older  than  you  are  and  I  know 
Red  Lodge.  What  have  you  done?"  He  asked  this 
curious  question  without  any  touch  of  the  chaffiness 
that  had  been  in  his  voice  up  to  now 

Dick  thought  it  out  carefully.  "I  dunno,"  she  said. 
"It's  just  my  luck,  I  suppose." 

80 


THE    OUTPOST    OF   ETERNITY 

"Are  you  the  daughter  of  the  man  who " 

Dick  nodded. 

"Oh,  by  Jove,  I'm  sorry.  What  a  rotten  thing  to 
say!" 

"No,  it  wasn't,"  said  Dick.  "You  see  it  wasn't 
Tony's  fault.  It  was  just  his  luck,  too.  We  Oke- 
hamptons  have  been  out  of  luck  for  a  long  time,  ever 
since  I  was  born,  I  think.  I  never  remember  any." 

"Who's  Tony?" 

"Father.  He  may  have  lost  Quennor  and  gone  bank- 
rupt, but,  by  gum,  you  should  see  him  shoot !  He  can 
drop  a  woodcock  with  a  single  barrel  in  a  gale  of  wind 
and  he's  one  of  the  finest  poachers  I've  ever  struck 
and  I've  struck  a  few.  Pretty  useful,  myself.  'Round 
Quennor  it's  father  first,  then  Harry  and  then  me." 

"Who's  Harry?" 

"My  sister.  I  wish  you  knew  Harry.  My  goodness, 
she's  something  like  something.  She'll  spin  the  old 
name  up,  I  can  tell  you.  She's  a  dancer." 

"By  Jove!    Which  theater?" 

"No  theater,  yet.  She's  with  a  woman  in  Wardour 
Street,  or  some  such  name.  I  always  write  to  her  at 
Jermyn  Street,  although  she  lives  at  the  other  place. 
She  asked  me  to." 

Jack  looked  at  her  quickly.  "Why  Jermyn  Street?" 
he  asked  involuntarily,  before  he  could  stop  himself. 

"I  dunno — oh,  by  Jove!  Here's  one  of  these  joy 
wheels.  I've  never  seen  a  really  good  one.  Are 
you  on?" 

"Anything  you  like,"  said  Jack.  He  had  begun  to 
feel  that  this  girl  needed  someone. 

81 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Half  a  dozen  Australian  cadets,  one  or  two  servant 
girls  on  holiday,  and  a  fat  Frenchman  with  three  little 
girls  in  socks  and  short  Tartan  skirts  were  putting  in 
an  hilarious  time,  returning  again  and  again  to  sit  in 
a  tight  clump  in  the  center  of  a  more  and  more  rapidly 
spinning  circle  to  be  shot  off  in  an  ignominious  heap, 
one  by  one. 

Jack  and  Dick  became  part  of  this  merry  crowd 
and  wedged  themselves  in  among  great  boots  to  wait 
for  the  next  spin.  The  fat  Frenchman  was  the  first 
to  go.  He  made  a  resounding  thud  against  the  bunker. 
Two  servant  girls  followed  him,  clasped  together,  giv- 
ing superb  imitations  of  pea  hens  when  disturbed. 
Jack  followed  with  Australia  on  and  about  him.  On 
spun  the  board  faster  and  faster  until  at  last  the  whole 
cargo  had  been  discharged  except  Dick.  With  her 
head  down  and  her  long  legs  stretched  out  in  front  of 
her  and  hands  planted  firmly  at  her  sides  she  sat  as 
though  glued  to  the  center  of  the  thing,  a  very  blur 
of  a  girl. 

"Vive  I'Angleterre!"  shouted  the  Frenchman.  "Vive 
le  sport!"  Cheers  rose  and  Jack  shouted  himself 
hoarse,  laughing  like  a  maniac.  The  board  reached  its 
summit  of  speed,  slowed  down  and  came  to  a  full 
stop,  and  then  Dick  picked  herself  up  and  walked 
quietly  off. 

"Had  enough,"  she  said.  "Can't  we  eat  something?" 

They  left  the  place  and  Jack's  sides  were  sore.  "I'll 
tell  you  what  it  is,"  he  said.  "I'd  like  to  plant  all  the 
old  women  at  the  Admiralty  on  that  thing.  Make  'em 
a  bit  human.  What  about  some  chocolate?" 

82 


THE    OUTPOST   OF   ETERNITY 

"That's  the  notion !"  said  Dick.  "With  almonds  in 
it.  It's — it's  two  years  next  October  since  Harry  and 
I  got  hold  of  a  bit  of  chocolate  with  almonds  in  it. 
There  were  no  gold  mines  at  Quennor." 

Jack  bought  enough  chocolate  to  keep  a  starving  gar- 
rison going  for  a  week  and  they  marched  about  for 
the  next  half  hour  munching  complacently,  jawing 
about  everything  under  the  sun.  And  then  they  heard 
a  clock  strike  and  saw  that  the  shadows  had  lengthened. 

"Hullo!"  said  Jack.  "We  shall  be  knocked  off  this 
sort  of  thing  if  we  don't  get  back  pretty  quick." 

"Get  back!"  cried  Dick  in  dismay.     "Already!" 

"  'Fraid  so.  Law  and  order,  you  know.  How  about 
my  coming  down  again  the  day  after  to-morrow?" 

"Make  it  to-morrow." 

"Can't.  Frightfully  sorry.  I'm  playing  golf  at 
Sunningdale.  Competition.  However,  I've  got  three 
weeks'  more  leave.  I  fancy  I  shall  be  a  well  known 
figure  in  the  Crystal  Palace  before  that  comes  to  an 
end." 

"Then,"  said  Dick,  "I  sha'n't  do  a  guy,  after  all." 

"Do  what?" 

"Oh,  nothing.    Come  on.    Let's  get." 

She  marched  away  and  it  was  in  silence  that  these 
two  went  back  among  the  tropical  plants  and  the  tin- 
pot  statues  and  out  of  hearing  of  the  wailing  organ 
and  back  to  Red  Lodge. 

When  Jack  turned  his  car  homeward  its  pulse  was 
not  quicker  than  his  own.  "Oh,  my  Lord!"  he  said. 
"Oh,  my  Lord!" 


CHAPTER    IV 

ONE  afternoon,  without  saying  a  word  to  Miss 
Okehampton,  Jack  drove  Dick  into  London. 
Again  and  again  she  had  asked  him  to  take 
her  to  tea  somewhere  where  there  was  a  band  and 
where  she  could  see  some  of  the  people  described  by 
Harry  in  her  apparently  picturesque  letters.  Jack 
cursed  himself  for  giving  in,  but  was  no  longer  in 
a  condition  to  deny  Dick  anything.  Luckily,  she  had 
never  made  use  of  her  powers  before,  but  this  was 
only  because  she  had  never  realized  them.  Like  her 
father  and  Harry,  Dick  was  a  chameleon.  She  took 
the  color  of  her  surroundings.  In  the  course  of  one 
day  it  would  have  been  not  only  easy  but  irresistible 
for  her  to  have  been  a  little  nun  among  nuns,  a  hooli- 
gan among  musical  comedians,  a  silent,  wide-eyed  emo- 
tionalist among  musicians  and  a  slangy,  cigarette- 
smoking,  card-playing,  ankle-displaying  young  person 
at  any  of  the  country  houses  which  harbor  the  mem- 
bers of  semi-society.  With  Jack,  Dick  was  full  of 
energy,  cheeriness  and  clean-mindedness,  perfectly 
happy  to  listen  to  his  descriptions  of  work  and  sports, 
to  sympathize  with  his  ambitions  and  to  dance  along 
at  his  side  even  among  the  smug  roads  of  Sydenham. 
There  had  been  some  cloying  suggestion  of  scent  in 

84 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Harry's  last  letter.  It  got  upon  Dick's  Tony-side.  It 
stirred  in  her  a  wild  desire  to  sit  in  the  very  heart 
of  so-called  civilization.  Harry's  letters  were  ill-spelled 
and  full  of  blots,  but  almost  Balzacian  in  their 
vividness.  Egged  on  to  go  faster,  Jack  drove  through 
the  boundless  suburbs  and  over  the  river  and  so  into 
the  endless  stream  of  traffic.  Dick's  face  was  almost 
impish  as  the  car  dodged  in  and  out  among  motor 
'buses  like  a  torpedo  boat  at  naval  maneuvers.  She 
threw  chaff  at  policemen,  screamed  with  laughter  when 
they  only  just  managed  to  evade  a  collision  and  sat 
with  flushed  cheeks  and  two  rows  of  small  white  teeth 
gleaming.  She  became  an  altogether  new  Dick,  an 
astonishing,  curious  Dick  to  the  boy.  Her  deviltry 
amused  him  and  frightened  him.  He  was  delighted 
with  her  courage  and  a  little  shaken  by  her  reckless- 
ness. As  to  the  rules  of  the  road  she  knew  nothing 
and  cared  nothing.  When  a  policeman  held  them  up 
she  implored  Jack  to  ride  him  down,  to  bowl  the  beg- 
gar over.  It  seemed  to  her  to  be  an  utter  waste  of 
time  not  to  cut  around  the  wrong  side  of  safeties,  and 
when  they  went  through  the  Park:  "Now  then!"  she 
cried.  "Let  her  go.  Man  alive,  what's  the  row? 
You're  creeping  like  a  funeral  hearse.  We  can  fly 
here." 

Jack  shook  his  head.  "Nothing  over  ten  allowed," 
he  said,  and  made  it  so. 

Her  annoyance  was  transient.  A  moment  later  she 
cried  aloud  with  joy  at  the  sight  of  the  charming  old 
warm  buildings  of  St.  James's  Palace,  and  when  they 
took  St.  James's  Street  at  a  rush  and  turned  at  last 

85 


THE   OUTPOST   OF   ETERNITY 

into  Piccadilly  she  heaved  a  sigh  of  deep  satisfaction. 
"This  is  London."  she  said.  "This  is  it." 

The  street  was  alive  with  people  and  traffic.  The 
sun  brought  out  all  its  color  and  flashed  back  from 
the  windows  of  the  shops.  Flags  were  flying  on  the 
buildings  and  the  incessant  roar  made  Dick's  blood 
race  in  her  veins.  She  had  never  been  in  Piccadilly 
before.  It  was  to  her  something  of  what  the  first 
sight  of  the  sea  is  to  a  street  arab,  and  when  the  car 
pulled  up  in  front  of  the  Circus  Hotel  she  got  out  a 
little  unsteadily.  The  noise,  the  movement,  the  shock 
of  so  many  people  had  intoxicated  her. 

Just  behind  them  a  car,  apparently  designed  as  an 
advertisement,  so  enormous  were  its  dimensions,  drew 
up.  The  owner  of  it,  a  thin,  undersized,  pimply, 
curiously  clothed  youth,  with  a  constantly  twitching 
face,  was  sitting  at  the  side  of  the  chauffeur,  a  person 
just  as  precocious,  but  a  little  cleaner.  Wedged  in 
between  them  was  a  girl  small  enough  to  be  thirteen, 
with  an  odd  little  black  hat  jammed  right  over  her 
eyes.  Her  face  was  painted  thickly.  It  looked  as 
though  the  colors  had  been  laid  on  with  a  knife.  She 
was  immensely  amused  about  something  and  her  loud 
laugh  made  people  on  passing  omnibuses  turn  their 
heads.  She  got  out,  almost  carried  by  the  twitching 
youth.  They  were  both  well-developed  degenerates, 
well  known  to  the  police,  whose  business  it  is  to  pre- 
vent scandals  at  any  cost.  Like  everybody  else  who 
knew  his  London,  Jack  had  seen  these  people  many 
times.  Dick  burst  into  a  laugh.  "Aren't  they  the 
limit?"  she  said.  "If  Harry  and  I  had  come  across 

86 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

those  two  at  Quennor — well,  I  don't  quite  know  what 
would  have  happened." 

Jack  touched  her  arm.  "I  say,  I  know  a  most  sport- 
ing little  tea  shop  just  along  the  street,  I  vote  we " 

"Thanks  very  much,  Jacko,  but  this  is  me!  I  hope 
everybody's  like  that.  Dear  Miss  Smedley  was  telling 
me  about  the  Zoo.  I  shall  be  able  to  kill  two  birds 
with  one  stone." 

Jack  gave  it  up.  It  wouldn't  matter  just  once,  he 
thought.  Dick  was  so  altogether  different.  So  he 
told  the  man  at  the  lift  to  take  them  to  the  roof  gar- 
den. Dick  caught  her  breath  and  grasped  his  hand 
and  laid  her  cheek  against  his  arm.  This  was  another 
of  her  new  experiences. 

"Oh,  by  Jove!"  said  Dick.  "Isn't  this  top  hole! 
Let's  capture  that  table  by  the  parapet."  She  made 
a  rush  for  it  and  sat  down.  Through  the  stone  work 
she  could  see  a  slice  of  the  street  and  the  tops  of  peo- 
ple's heads.  It  was  like  being  in  a  balloon.  The  sun 
touched  her  hair.  She  held  up  her  face  to  it  and  shut 
her  eyes.  "Ah!"  she  said.  "This  is  something  like. 
At  Sydenham  the  sun  always  seems  to  be  dressed  in 
black  silk." 

Jack  ordered  tea  and  gazed  at  the  girl  in  front  of 
him.  He  was  mightily  in  love.  To  him  she  was  an 
exquisite  wild  flower,  something  to  live  for,  to  work 
for,  to  be  things  for. 

The  band  was  playing  precociously.  The  leader,  a 
little  thin  foreigner,  played  the  violin  with  extraordi- 
nary expertness,  mostly  making  harmonics  and  twist- 
ing the  tune  out  of  time  to  suit  himself,  and  all  the 

87 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

while  he  played  to  some  particular  person  with  a  sort 
of  precocious  sheepishness.  There  was  an  air  of  pre- 
cocity about  everything.  Precocious  boys  were  enter- 
taining either  very  young  girls  in  very  short  skirts 
or  elderly  bulbous  women  dressed  young.  A  little 
breeze  made  the  awning  flap  and  the  sound  of  the 
traffic  was  a  mere  hum. 

Dick  was  delighted  and  excited.  This,  then,  was 
life.  It  made  Sydenham  feel  like  something  woolen 
to  the  touch.  "If  I  told  Emily  Sarah  about  this,  she'd 
have  a  fit,"  she  said.  "And  I  think  dear  Miss  Smedley 
would  go  and  buy  a  packet  of  cigarettes  out  of  pique." 

Jack  laughed.  He  knew  the  place  backward  and 
had  long  since  given  it  up,  but  it  was  infinitely  jolly 
to  see  Dick  enjoying  herself.  He  had  something  of 
the  satisfaction  of  a  confirmed  Londoner  who  person- 
ally conducts  a  country  cousin  over  the  Academy. 

"Who  are  they  all  ?"  asked  Dick.  "Who  are  those 
dolly  boys  and  those  queer  little  women?" 

"The  Lord  only  knows,"  said  Jack.  "The  ones  wear- 
ing old  Etonian  colors  are  West  End  shoppees'  sons. 
The  painted  ones  have  migrated  from  the  suburbs. 
They  generally  come  out  like  gnats  at  sundown." 

"The  word  for  them  is  poisonous,"  said  Dick. 
"They're  frightfully  amusing,  aren't  they?  It's  like 
being  at  a  theater.  Not  that  I've  ever  been.  That's 
another  thing  you've  got  to  do  for  me.  My  aunt, 
aren't  I  a  yokel?" 

"I  like  you  best  as  a  yokel,"  said  Jack. 

Dick's  face  broke  into  a  broad  grin.  "Then  I  don't 
think  you'll  like  me  very  long,  Jacko.  I'm  going  to  do 

88 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

everything  and  see  everything  before  I've  done.  I'm 
going  to  taste  every  conceivable  sort  of  wine,  smoke 
every  imaginable  kind  of  cigarette  and  know  every 
available  type  of  person."  There  was  more  than  a 
suggestion  of  her  mother's  peculiar  phrasing  about  this 
little  outburst. 

Just  as  the  tea  appeared  a  large  piece  of  cake  hit 
Dick's  cheek.  There  was  a  scream  of  joy.  Dick 
turned  in  the  direction  of  it  and  looked  with  unrecog- 
nizing  eyes  at  a  girl  sitting  at  a  table  to  the  right  of 
the  band.  She  was  wearing  a  very  French  hat  which 
hid  her  hair  and  came  down  just  below  her  eyebrows. 
Her  face  was  dead  white  and  her  lips  bright  red.  She 
waved  her  hand  wildly  and  showed  a  set  of  strong 
teeth  that  looked  like  a  dog's.  An  elderly  man,  almost 
too  well  groomed,  had  his  elbows  on  the  table  and 
another  man  in  the  twenties  who  might  have  been  a 
post-impressionist  artist,  who  dressed  the  part,  was 
seated  opposite. 

"Dashed  infernal  cheek!"  said  Jack.  "I  wish  to 
Heaven  this  was  Maidenhead  or  somewhere.  I'd  duck 
those  two  rotters." 

"Who  are  they?"  asked  Dick.  "I  believe  it  was  the 
girl  who  threw  the  cake — look  out!" 

It  was  the  girl.  Laughing  like  a  maniac  she  snatched 
up  another  piece  and  threw  it  unerringly. 

Jack  was  on  his  feet.  To  the  immense  amusement 
of  everyone  near  he  went  across  with  clenched  fists 
and  his  lips  pressed  tightly  together  and  a  curious  pale- 
ness about  his  nostrils.  He  was  just  going  to  lay 
hands  on  the  younger  man  when  the  cake-throwing 

89 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

girl  shouted  out :  "Don't  be  a  damn  fool !  That's  my 
sister." 

Jack  hesitated.  He  told  himself  that  she  was  lying, 
but  he  watched  her  get  up  and  cross  the  place  swiftly. 
He  followed  her  and  heard  her  say :  "My  God,  Dick ! 
Are  you  blind  or  what?" 

"Harry!" 

Dick  would  have  thrown  her  arms  around  the  neck 
of  this  little  English  Parisian  but  for  a  quick  whisper. 
"All  right.  Go  steady.  This  is  not  the  place  for 
touching  domestic  scenes.  Who's  your  boy?" 

"Jack,"  said  Dick.  Her  eyes  were  wide  with  ad- 
miration. Harry  was  going  it. 

"Oh,  there  are  schools  of  Jacks,"  said  Harry.  She 
turned.  "Got  a  name?"  she  asked. 

"Euston!"  said  Jack. 

The  girl  laughed.  "Why  not  make  it  Paddington 
or  King's  Cross  while  you're  about  it."  She  took 
Jack's  chair  and  beckoned  to  her  male  friends.  They 
obeyed  eagerly. 

"As  we're  all  little  gentlemen,  I  suppose  I'd  better 
introduce  you."  She  proceeded  to  the  business  theat- 
rically. "Dick,  Sir  Edward  Morde,  M.  P.,  and  Mon- 
sieur Rene  de  Maingauche." 

The  two  men  bowed  and  eyed  Dick  nastily.  She 
had  made  a  capture  of  them  both. 

"And,  oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Harry.  "This 
is  Mr.  Baker  Street." 


90 


CHAPTER   V 

THAT  afternoon  metaphorically  gave  Sub-Lieu- 
tenant John  Calverly  Euston  a  step.  With 
only  a  week  of  leave  left  and  with  every  road 
leading  to  Sydenham,  he  pinned  himself  down  to  his 
mother's  house  in  Eaton  Square.  Everything  he  looked 
at — the  walls,  pages  of  books,  newspapers — had  in  it 
two  wide,  appealing,  gray  eyes,  but  the  boy  shook  him- 
self like  a  St.  Bernard  and  turned  his  back.  He  knew 
what  would  happen  if  he  went  to  Sydenham  again. 
Dick  would  want  London  and  Harry,  and  he  was  not 
going  to  be  a  party  to  either.  He  hung  about  the 
house,  sent  his  car  to  be  examined,  knowing  very  well 
that  it  was  in  perfect  running  order.  He  smoked  until 
the  roof  of  his  mouth  was  raw.  He  planted  himself 
down  in  front  of  books,  having  only  read  one  in  his 
life  before  right  through — "Westward  Ho!"  In  a 
word,  he  underwent  the  tortures  of  the  damned,  being 
torn  two  ways.  He  wasted  one  good  week  and  filled 
his  poor  mother's  brain  with  a  hundred  fears.  She 
eyed  him  closely  and  surreptitiously  and  invented  a 
hundred  answers  to  her  one  incessant  question :  "What 
is  the  matter  with  Jack  ?"  Her  loving  consideration  for 
the  boy  caused  her  to  say  all  the  wrong  things  to  him. 
When  she  saw  that  his  eyes  were  looking  clean  through 

91 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

the  morning  paper  she  said :  "Why  not  go  out,  dear, 
for  a  little  walk?"  When  he  had  chucked  the  paper 
away  and  taken  up  his  stand  with  his  back  to  the 
empty  grate  and  was  trying  to  drill  two  holes  through 
the  wall  which  blocked  out  his  view  of  Sydenham,  she 
said:  "Why  not  go  around  with  your  car  and  take 
Alice  for  a  little  turn.  You  used  to  be  so  fond  of 
Alice."  And  when  the  boy  who  adored  his  mother 
snapped  out  some  irritable  thing  and  stood  at  the  win- 
dow cursing  himself,  she  said :  "Why  not  go  along  to 
your  hosier  in  Bond  Street  and  set  yourself  up  in  win- 
ter underclothing.  There's  no  time  like  the  present." 
And  when  at  last  "why  not"  took  possession  of  his 
brain  like  the  refrain  of  a  comic  song,  Jack  avoided 
the  mother  who  had  been,  and  still  was,  and  would 
always  remain,  his  best  and  dearest  and  shut  himself 
in  his  own  room,  slamming  the  door  behind  him.  It 
was  then  that  he  wished  with  a  sort  of  red-hot  pain 
up  and  down  his  spine  that  he  had  never  seen  the  oval 
face  with  its  golden  hair  and  great  wide  eyes  behind 
the  window.  He  told  himself  that  it  wasn't  good 
enough,  any  of  it.  It  made  him  behave  like  a  negro 
to  his  mother.  It  rotted  every  hour  of  his  day.  It 
made  him  treat  himself  as  a  suspicious  character.  Think 
what  he  might  have  been  doing  with  this  last  week 
of  a  precious  leave!  Having  said  all  these  things  in 
words  out  of  a  well-selected  naval  dictionary,  he 
would  take  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat  and  roll  up  his 
sleeves  and  give  himself  the  soundest  thrashing  a 
man  could  have,  after  which  he  would  go  down  to 
his  mother  and  be  frightfully  cheerful  and  write  little 

92 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

letters  for  her  and  advise  her  as  to  what  to  have  for 
dinner — something  for  a  change. 

Grimly,  doggedly  and  like  an  honest  chip  of  a  fine 
old  block,  he  hung  out  until  the  morning  of  his  last 
day,  when,  giving  himself  no  time  to  argue,  he  made 
a  bee  line  for  the  garage,  took  no  notice  of  the  man 
with  his,  "Lord  love  me!  But  I  can't  find  anything 
the  matter  with  this  'ere  car!"  got  in  and  drove  to 
Sydenham.  He  didn't  stop  to  think  that  his  arrival 
at  such  an  hour  would  throw  the  whole  Red  Lodge 
routine  into  unbelievable  chaos.  He  rang  the  bell  and 
said :  "I  want  to  see  Miss  Dick,  please." 

It  was  an  altogether  unnecessary  question.  In  the 
middle  of  an  attempt  to  wrestle  with  the  intricacies  of 
the  spelling  of  "mischievous"  Dick  had  heard  the  ap- 
proaching hum,  was  on  her  feet  before  the  car  had 
drawn  up  and  out  of  the  astonished  door  before  Miss 
Smedley  could  say  oh!  or  the  butler  find  words  for 
Jack. 

She  collided  with  Jack.  He  bent  like  a  tree  before 
the  force  of  a  gale.  She  pushed  him  out  on  the  step 
and  shut  the  front  door  behind  them.  "Oh,  Jack, 
Jack!"  she  said.  "You  devil!  You  rotter!  Where 
have  you  been?  Oh,  my  God,  I've  missed  you!  It's 
not  a  week.  It's  a  year,  a  lifetime.  Oh,  Jacko,  I 
thought  you'd  forgotten  me.  I  was  just  going  to  die 
and  be  buried." 

The  boy  seized  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  again 
and  again  and  held  her  close  and  gave  thanks  to  God 
and  then  stood  as  red  as  a  beet  root,  looking  awfully 
uncomfortable  and  ashamed  of  himself. 

93 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Dick's  eyebrows  were  raised  and  she  burst  into  a 
little  laugh.  "Great  work,  Jack !"  she  said.  "Hot  stuff, 
old  boy!  Didn't  think  you  had  it  in  you." 

Never  in  this  world  had  there  been  a  man  so  utterly 
nonplussed  as  Jack.  The  yokel  who  saw  the  first  rail- 
way train  was  not  left  more  wordless.  He  felt  just 
as  though  he  had  kissed  a  younger  brother.  Perhaps 
it  was  a  good  thing  that  Dick  didn't  give  him  much 
time  for  further  thinking. 

She  caught  hold  of  his  coat.  "Dash  it,"  she  said, 
"interview  Emily  Sarah  and  get  me  off  for  the  day. 
Isn't  this  your  last  day?" 

"The  absolute  last." 

"Go  on,  then!  Don't  waste  a  second.  Think  of  me 
all  the  time  you're  away.  Oh,  my  aunt,  I  shall  become 
a  cabbage  or  an  antimacassar.  For  my  sake  get  me 
off  and  let's  go  for  a  bust.  I'm  very  nearly  desperate. 
Any  lie  will  do !" 

Jack  rang  the  bell.  The  butler  reappeared.  There 
was  a  little  color  in  his  cheeks  and  something  sus- 
piciously romantic  in  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

"Will  you  please  ask  Miss  Okehampton  if  she  will 
see  me  for  a  moment  ?" 

"Certainly,  sir.  Will  you  wait  in  the  morning- 
room  ?" 

"No,  thanks.    This'll  do." 

"Oh,  quite  so,  sir." 

The  butler  went  upstairs  to  the  guest's  bedroom.  As 
no  one  ever  stayed  in  it,  and  the  morning-room  was 
now  required  for  Dick's  lessons,  Miss  Emily  Sarah  had 
turned  it  into  a  little  boudoir  for  herself,  thus  giving 

94 


THE    OUTPOST    OF   ETERNITY 

a  shiver  of  almost  unhealthy  excitement  to  Red  Lodge. 

The  little  old  lady,  as  neat  and  precise  as  usual, 
was  reading  the  Morning  Post.  Her  lips  moved  as 
she  read.  The  butler's  timid  entrance  filled  her  with 
a  sense  of  alarm.  Someone  must  be  ill,  or  was  the 
house  on  fire? 

"I  beg  pardon,  madam,  but  Mr.  Euston " 

"Mr.  Euston,  at  this  hour?" 

"I'm  extremely  sorry,  madam,  but  Mr.  Euston 
wishes — hopes — desires — in  fact  he  would  like  to  see 
you,  madam." 

Lady  Euston  was  ill,  perhaps  dying.  Miss  Oke- 
hampton  waved  her  hand  and  the  butler  departed. 
Trembling  slightly,  the  elderly  lady  then  removed  her 
gold-rimmed  glasses,  tucked  them  carefully  into  their 
box,  folded  the  Morning  Post,  picked  up  a  small  piece 
of  fluff  which  had  managed  somehow  to  fall  upon 
the  carpet  and  seated  herself  with  her  hands  clasped 
together. 

When  Jack  entered  the  room  he  saw  exactly  what 
had  happened.  He  went  forward,  laid  his  hand  lightly 
on  Miss  Okeharapton's  frail  shoulder  and  touched  her 
forehead  with  his  lips. 

"Mother's  as  fit  as  a  fiddle,"  he  said,  "but  she  didn't 
send  her  love  because  she  didn't  know  I  was  coming. 
All  the  same,  you  have  it,  and  mine,  too,  and  every- 
body else's.  It's  like  this.  I've  come  to  see  Dick. 
I'm  in  love  with  Dick.  I  shall  never  get  over  it.  This 
is  the  last  day  of  my  leave.  May  we  have  it  together? 
Say  yes,  like  a  brick." 

The  little  old  lady  didn't  quite  seem  to  know  what 

95 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

to  say  or  do.  The  whole  thing  was  so  unconventional. 
Of  course,  the  boy  was  a  sailor.  She  must  bear  that 
in  mind  and  the  sea  always  had  a  sort  of  tumbling 
effect  upon  people.  "My  dear  boy,"  she  said,  "I — 
this  is  so — I'm  sure  I  hope — but  you're  so  young,  and 
Dick — and  the  whole  day!  Alone!  Oh,  dear  me! 
Dear  me !  What  times  these  are !  I  think  I  must  have 
lived  too  long." 

Jack  kissed  her  again.  He  was  a  born  sailor.  "Just 
this  once,"  he  said.  "I'm  very  nearly  your  son,  you 
know,  and  she's  an  angel.  And,  of  course,  being  very 
nearly  your  son,  I  must  be  a  bit  of  an  angel,  too.  So 
it's  quite  all  right.  Thanks,  most  awfully." 

He  was  gone.  If  H.  M.  S.  Bellerophon  had  wit- 
nessed this  bombardment  of  early  Victorianism,  she 
would  have  spanked  out  all  her  pennants  of  triumph 
and  glee.  Nelson  himself  would  have  seen  the  thing 
with  his  blind  eye. 

Dick  was  waiting  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  shak- 
ing like  a  leaf.  Dear  Miss  Smedley  had  heard  Jack's 
voice  and  had  never  moved  from  her  seat  in  the  moin- 
ing-room.  Cupid,  in  his  secret  place,  felt  a  qualm  of 
conscience.  Why  had  he  overlooked  this  woman? 

Jack  slid  down  the  banisters.  It  was  the  next  best 
thing  to  an  aeroplane. 

"Hat,  quick!"  he  said.  "Bundle  up.  You'll  find  me 
in  the  car." 

Dick  couldn't  slide  up  the  banisters.  From  an  en- 
gineering point  of  view  it  was  impossible.  She  took 
the  stairs  four  at  a  time,  seized  the  first  hat  that  came 
handy,  wounded  her  head  with  the  pin  and  was  down 

96 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

again  in  a  flash.  And  when  the  two  elderly  ladies, 
into  whose  lives  love  had  never  come,  heard  the  door 
bang  they  sat  very  still  and  both  their  hearts  seemed 
to  tumble. 

"Which  way?"  asked  Jack. 

"To  the  trees,"  said  Dick. 


97 


CHAPTER   VI 

WHAT  other  trees  were  there  for  Dick  than 
those  around  Quennor,  those  under  which 
she  had  been  born  and  bred,  those  with 
every  one  of  which  she  was  on  terms  of  the  closest 
friendship? 

Jack  knew  his  way  to  Beaconsfield.  The  rest  was 
easy — up,  up  all  the  way.  There  were  the  Chilterns, 
quiet  and  dignified  against  the  sky.  They  went  through 
this  place  and  that,  all  very  sleepy  and  all  happily 
only  just  touched  by  the  vile  hand  of  the  jerry  builder, 
barring  one  big  place  where  the  old  and  the  new  made 
one  great  olla-podrida. 

The  sun  was  very  warm.  The  year  was  not  older 
than  the  middle  of  September  and  was  like  a  beau- 
tiful middle-aged  woman  on  one  of  her  best  days. 
There  were  many  of  the  remains  of  youth  everywhere. 
It  was  only  here  and  there  that  the  sere  and  yellow 
peeped  out,  and  if  you  didn't  look  too  closely  into 
the  neat  cottage  gardens,  you  didn't  see  the  autumn 
flowers. 

Dick  saw  nothing  and  saw  everything.  She  was 
free.  She  was  going  back.  It  was  like  Heaven.  She 
said  so  again  and  again,  and  as  she  came  in  touch 
again  with  never-to-be-forgotten  corners  and  patches 

98 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

and  wild  stretches  she  fell  into  a  sort  of  ectasy.  The 
London  Dick,  the  excitable  Dick,  the  slangy,  slap-dash 
Dick  and  even  the  Sydenham  Dick  were  all  left  be- 
hind. She  was  Dick  of  the  trees,  the  birds — Dick; 
Dick  who  had  sat  at  Billy  Thoresby's  side  and  gravely 
explained  to  him  all  the  reasons. 

She  almost  cried  when  they  turned  into  the  one 
main  street  of  King's  Redesborough,  leaving  the  two 
large  inns  on  the  right  and  the  little  old  market  square 
on  the  left.  And  when  she  saw  the  white  cross  cut 
into  the  side  of  the  hill  she  gave  a  sort  of  sob,  and 
after  that  all  her  babble  ceased.  All  her  graphic  and 
minute  descriptions  of  squirrel  hunts  and  a  thousand 
and  one  other  adventures  came  to  an  end.  She  sat 
with  her  hands  clasped  together  and  a  smile  on  her 
face,  with  the  breeze  fingering  her  golden  hair,  and 
took  the  place  into  her  soul. 

Jack  had  called  her  an  angel.  Whenever  he  was 
able — a  good,  and  therefore  a  cautious,  driver  was 
Master  Jack — he  glanced  at  her  face.  He  had  called 
her  an  angel,  but  had  not  been  quite  certain  that  this 
description  fitted  her.  But  now  he  was  dead  sure. 
She  looked  like  a  child  in  church.  It  was  wonderful. 
He  would  never  believe,  no,  never,  that  Dick  would 
ever  be  capable  of  anything  that  was  not  straight. 
Her  slang,  her  oaths,  even  her  occasional  blasphemies, 
startling,  ingenious  blasphemies,  were  tricks  caught 
from  association.  They  were  not  Dick,  the  real  Dick. 
To-day  the  very  real  Dick  was  sitting  at  his  side.  If 
this  boy  had  loved  her  before,  he  adored  her  now. 
He  couldn't  do  much,  but  he  could  give  her  one  day. 

99 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

She  gripped  his  arm  and  pointed  to  the  right.  He 
turned  into  a  narrow  road,  a  very  twister — the  sort 
of  road  which  a  bicyclist  intends  to  take  until  he  gets 
to  the  middle,  but  which  he  then  walks,  panting. 
Jack's  car  needed  a  change  of  gear,  and  even  then 
made  no  small  beer  of  it.  At  a  word  from  Dick  he 
stopped.  He  then  saw  Dick  stand  for  a  moment  with 
her  arms  stretched  out  before  going  forward  with  a 
sort  of  cry.  He  called  out  to  her,  but  she  took  no 
notice,  and  went  up  the  hill  like  a  goat.  Jack  ran 
the  car  on  to  the  turf  at  the  side  of  the  road,  shut  off 
his  engine  and  piled  all  the  provender  which  had  been 
bought  en  route  into  an  imposing  heap.  There  were 
two  tongues  in  glass  jars,  a  loaf  of  new  bread,  a  big 
cake  with  almonds  on  the  top,  two  bags  of  apples,  any 
number  of  half-penny  buns,  some  salt  in  a  paper  bag 
and  half  a  dozen  bottles  of  ginger  beer.  Also,  there 
were  two  peculiarly  blunt  cheap  knives  and  two  forks 
which  bore  no  relation  to  silver.  Two  youngsters 
came  down  singing  a  song  about  "I  know  the  way 
I'm  going,"  and  hitting  the  hedge  with  sticks.  "Hi !" 
said  Jack,  "you  two  men!  What  about  earning  some- 
thing?" 

They  were  true  children  of  Buckinghamshire.  They 
were  ready  to  earn  anything,  however  small.  They 
were  also  ready  to  work  for  it — up  to  a  point.  Jack 
loaded  them  up,  arms  and  pockets,  stuffed  his  own 
and  led  the  way.  He  could  see  Dick  standing  against 
the  sky,  and  plodded  up.  There  were  curious  stunted 
bushes  of  gorse  here  and  there  like  warts  upon  the 
face  of  a  giant.  The  short  grass  was  burnt  almost 

100 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

yellow  and  broke  at  the  touch,  showing  chalk  beneath. 
Shadows  chased  each  other,  and  bees  went  by,  and  a 
dazzling  haze  was  over  everything.  Jack  unloaded 
at  the  top  and  solemnly  handed  the  two  lads,  who 
knew  their  way,  a  shilling  apiece.  He  saw  that  they 
looked  at  Dick  with  very  reminiscent  eyes  and  took 
great  care  to  keep  well  out  of  the  range  of  her  arms. 
They  had  a  bit  of  news  for  mother.  One  o'  they 
devils  from  Quennor  back  agin !  How  it  would  spread ! 
Jack  bundled  them  off.  "Go  on,"  he  said,  "mizzle!" 
and  away  they  went.  A  shilling  spelled  endless  joys. 
They  disappeared  down  the  hill  again  like  rabbits,  one 
more  like  a  rabbit  than  the  other.  The  seat  of  his 
trousers  stood  in  need  of  attention. 

"So  long  as  we  stay  here,"  said  Jack,  "we  shall  be 
more  or  less  able  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  car." 

His  voice  broke  the  spell.  Dick  turned  around  and 
grinned.  "I  say,  Jacko,"  she  said,  "shan't  we  be  fat! 
And,  my  aunt,  aren't  I  hungry!  Car?  Oh,  that's 
all  right.  Nobody'll  run  away  with  it.  Watch  me!" 

She  picked  up  a  knife,  cut  the  string  on  a  bottle  of 
ginger  beer,  let  the  cork  out  expertly  and  put  the 
foaming  stuff  up  to  her  mouth.  She  drank  until  she 
spluttered  and  gasped  for  breath,  called  out :  "Coming 
over!"  and  pitched  the  bottle  at  Jack.  Jack  fin- 
ished it. 

"Topping !"  said  Jack.  "Wish  we'd  brought  a  dozen. 
Now  the  thing  is  how  to  get  at  this  tongue.  I've  been 
fiddling  about  with  the  beastly  thing  for  minutes. 
You  got  any  idea?" 

"What's  the  notion?"  asked  Dick.  "Want  it 
101 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERMTY 

opened?"  She  took  it,  set  it  lid  downward  upon  the 
grass,  picked  up  a  big  stone  and  buzzed  it  at  the  glis- 
tening bottom.  The  glass  smashed  to  smithereens. 
The  tongue  was  badly  dented.  It  was  also  stuck  all 
over  with  different  sized  pieces  of  glass. 

Jack  looked  a  little  rueful.  "Well,  that's  one  way," 
he  said. 

"Always  believe  in  short  cuts,"  said  Dick.  "Life's 
brief!  I  say,  the  bread's  hot."  She  cut  herself  a 
hunk,  sat  down  like  a  tailor  and  munched.  "Supposing 
you  were  a  good  shot,"  she  said,  "and  you  had  a  new- 
fangled sort  of  gun  that  threw  a  bullet  about  a  mile 
and  a  half  and  you  aimed  the  eighth  of  an  inch  to 
the  right  of  that  tree  which  looks  as  though  it  had 
a  broken  arm,  you'd  plug  Quennor  bang  in  the  middle 
of  the  front  door,  allowing  for  wind." 

Jack  was  busy  making  the  tongue  eatable.  "How 
about  our  driving  over  to  Quennor  after  lunch?"  he 
said,  thinking  to  please  her. 

"No  how,"  said  Dick.  "I  wouldn't  go  there  for  a 
thousand  pounds."  She  gulped  down  something  and 
then  laughed.  "You're  like  an  old  maid  with  that 
tongue.  Chickens  take  glass  as  a  medicine.  Cut  me 
a  hunk  and  don't  worry  about  the  fat." 

They  put  away  a  most  excellent  lunch  and  then 
found  that  they  had  a  tongue,  half  a  loaf  and  two 
bottles  of  ginger  beer  in  hand,  as  well  as  most  of  the 
cake  and  several  buns.  The  apples  had  disappeared. 

"Quite  useful,"  said  Dick.  "We  shall  need  this 
later.  Now,  then,  up  you  get.  Come  and  be  intro- 
duced." She  started  off  toward  the  beeches. 

1 02 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Hi!  Wait  a  second!  We  can't  leave  all  these 
things  here." 

"You're  a  regular  spin,"  said  Dick.  "Now,  then, 
express  surprise  in  your  best  English."  She  went 
down  on  her  knees,  carefully  moved  several  big 
squares  of  turf  and  disclosed  a  very  neat  cache,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  was  an  old  biscuit  tin,  a  broken  wine 
glass  and  a  knife  with  one  rusty  blade.  "Relics,"  she 
said.  "Hike  'em  in."  The  cache  was  loaded  and  cov- 
ered up  and  away  went  these  two,  arm  in  arm. 

"Trees,"  said  Dick.  "Best  of  all  trees,  bow  like 
little  gentlemen  to  Sub-Lieutenant,  the  Honorable, 
John  Calverly  Euston,  R.  N.,  H.  M.  S.  Bally  ruffian." 

Jack  held  out  his  hand.  "How  de  do?"  he  said. 
"Any  friend  of  Dick's  is  a  friend  of  mine." 


103 


CHAPTER   VII 

THERE  was  an  infinite  amount  of  rough  phi- 
losophy about  Dick,  the  sort  of  philosophy 
that  is  served  out  by  a  beneficent  Providence 
to  gypsies  and  artists,  drunkards  and  dog  thieves. 
She  had  the  power  to  forget  for  the  time  being  every 
thing  that  it  was  unpleasant  to  remember.  She  could 
make  herself  a  sort  of  island  of  an  hour  or  a  day 
and  surround  it  with  an  immeasurable  stretch  of  sea. 
She  could  cut  herself  off  from  what  had  happened 
and  what  must  happen  and  revel  in  what  was  hap- 
pening, like  a  sandboy.  This  is  something  which  can- 
not be  bought  or  acquired.  It  is  born  in  people.  It 
is  a  gift. 

It  seemed  to  Jack,  and  he  was  not  a  man  of  much 
imagination — he  regarded  imagination  with  a  good 
deal  of  suspicion — that  Dick's  progress  up  and  over 
the  hills  and  through  the  woods  was  almost  a  royal 
one.  It  struck  him  that  the  birds  sang  louder  and 
followed  her  from  place  to  place  all  a-flutter  with 
excitement,  that  the  long  fingers  of  bramble  in  the 
hedges  caught  her  affectionately.  Her  laugh  seemed 
to  stir  even  the  silent  beech  trees  which  stood  stoically 
among  dead  leaves,  in  endless  uneven  lines,  always  un- 

104 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

touched  by  the  sun  except  when  it  swept  across  their 
heads,  bringing  out  a  dozen  different  shades  of  green. 

Jack  had  his  work  cut  out.  For  hours  he  dodged 
about  after  Dick.  She  was  a  very  will-o'-the-wisp. 
She  felt  it  to  be  a  solemn  duty  to  visit  all  her  old 
haunts.  To  leave  one  would  be  to  make  it  jealous. 
The  hours  teemed  with  history.  Every  place  had  been 
the  scene  of  some  exciting  adventure.  Every  place  re- 
flected a  different  phase  of  Dick's  ubiquitous  career. 
She  had  been  the  last  of  the  Mohicans  here,  a  famous 
broncho-buster  there.  Elsewhere  she  had  played  the 
part  of  a  Canadian  log  roller,  an  Esquimaux,  and 
nearly  everywhere  she  had  been  a  very  complete  Eng- 
lish poacher. 

The  energy,  the  vitality  of  this  slight,  golden-headed 
girl  was  amazing.  She  scrambled  through  hedges, 
made  small  work  of  hills,  and  led  Jack  through  what 
seemed  to  be  a  maze  of  trees  and  all  the  time  she  kept 
up  her  stream  of  reminiscence.  Her  childlike  glee, 
the  intense  pleasure  she  found  in  the  beauty  of  every- 
thing put  the  boy  more  than  ever  under  her  spell. 
She  took  not  only  the  color  of  her  surroundings,  but 
of  Jack  himself.  He  saw  the  best  of  her,  all  that  was 
clean  and  sweet  and  simple.  It  was  all  very  good. 
Every  minute  of  these  hours  was  filling  the  comb  of 
his  memory.  Ages  ago  she  had  thrown  her  hat  away 
and  flung  her  hair  loose.  Jack  rescued  the  hat  and 
stuck  to  it  grimly.  It  was  characteristic  of  him  to 
cast  an  eye  forward.  Presently  they  would  have  to 
go  back  into  civilization,  where  hats  were  essential. 
Besides,  it  was  a  good  hat.  It  was  Dick's  hat. 

105 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

It  gave  him  a  certain  sort  of  comfort  to  carry  it 
about. 

He  was  the  one  who  felt  hungry  first.  "By  gum!" 
he  said.  "What  wouldn't  I  give  for  a  drink  and  a 
hunk  of  cake!" 

"Good  Lord!"  said  Dick.  "You  are  a  pig.  You 
think  of  nothing  but  eating.  Bags  I  the  rest  of  the 
ginger  beer." 

And  off  she  went  at  top  speed,  with  her  hair  flying 
behind  her.  When  Jack  came  up  with  her,  hot  and 
breathless,  the  cache  was  open  and  Dick  was  coolly 
drinking,  with  a  most  contagious  laugh  in  both  her 
eyes.  All  the  same,  she  understood  the  laws  of  part- 
nership. If  anything,  she  took  rather  less  than  her 
share.  They  were  both  rather  tired  and  were  very 
glad  to  lie  full  stretch  on  their  backs. 

"Well,"  said  Jack  thoughtfully,  "to-morrow  at  this 
time  I  shall  have  said :  'Come  aboard,  sir.'  ' 

Just  for  a  second  Dick  shivered  as  though  struck 
by  a  cold  air.  Then  she  made  a  gesture  as  though 
she  had  taken  something  in  her  hand  and  thrown  it 
away.  "How  would  you  like  me  to  be  a  novelist," 
she  said,  "a  really  top-notch  novelist?" 

"Great!"  said  Jack.     "Could  you?" 

"Why  not?  It's  only  a  question  of  making  up  my 
mind  to  be  anything  I  choose.  Yesterday  I  decided 
to  be  the  leading  portrait  painter  of  the  day,  but  I 
resigned  because  it  means  being  indoors  such  a  lot. 
A  fuggy  game.  I'll  tell  you  why  I've  decided  to  be 
a  novelist.  I  can  write  here." 

Jack  sat  up  and  looked  at  her.     "There's  a  lot  of 

106 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

money  in  it,"  he  said.  "All  publishers  leave  enor- 
mous fortunes.  But  can  you  write  a  novel  straight- 
away without  being  taught  ?" 

"It's  just  about  the  only  thing  you  can  do  without 
being  taught,"  she  said.  "Any  fool  can  write  a  book, 
and  it's  just  that  that  makes  me  give  up  writing  at 
once.  It's  too  easy.  I  know!"  she  said  with  a  burst 
of  inspiration.  "I  shall  compose.  I  shall  write  music. 
That's  my  line.  This  time  next  year  look  out  for  my 
face  walking  about  in  hundreds  in  the  streets,  and  look 
in  at  the  biggest  building  there  is  and  spot  me  mounted 
up  in  front  of  a  music  stand  wagging  a  stick.  That 
'ud  be  a  bit  of  all  right,  wouldn't  it,  Jack  ?  A  hundred 
a  day  or  something,  eh?  You  could  touch  me  down 
for  a  bit  from  time  to  time,  old  boy.  Rather  nice  for 
you  to  be  able  to  say  to  your  friends :  'Know  Oke- 
hamptonwesky,  the  waltz  king?  Rather!  Close  pal 
of  mine ! '  Wouldn't  it  be  great  to  have  a  hundred  or 
so  spot  musicians  sitting  at  your  feet  and  bring  out 
of  them  waves  of  music  and  then  hear  a  roar  of  ap- 
plause? Yes,  that's  my  job,  composing.  It's  settled." 

"Good  luck!"  said  Jack.  She  said  that  it  was  set- 
tled and  so  there  it  was. 

"And  as  for  you,  Jack.  You've  got  to  be  the  young- 
est Admiral  in  the  British  Navy.  Otherwise  nitter!" 

"That's  a  bet !"  said  Jack.  "We'll  both  rise  to  great 
heights." 

"Doesn't  matter  about  your  making  money,  you 
see,"  she  said,  "all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  make  a  name. 
I  must  make  money.  There  are  father  and  mother, 
you  see.  Now  Tony's  a  man  who  simply  must  be  a 

107 


THE   OUTPOST   OF   ETERNITY 

Squire,  and  he  must  be  able  to  write  checks  as  ordi- 
nary people  strike  matches.  It's  in  his  blood.  That's 
where  I  come  in.  I  shall  buy  back  Quennor,  spend 
about  a  quarter  of  a  million  on  the  place,  put  it  in 
thorough  working  order  and  build  on  a  wing  for 
myself  with  a  music  room  about  as  big  as  the  Albert 
Hall,  or  a  little  bigger,  perhaps.  Must  have  elbow 
room.  I  shall  have  to  run  a  gang  of  tame  musicians, 
and  that  means  building  a  little  town  of  houses  for 
them,  somewhere,  where  it  won't  spoil  the  scenery. 
Pretty  good  notion,  don't  you  think  so?" 

"Pure,  Dick,"  said  Jack. 

And  all  the  while  the  sun  was  sinking  and  shadows 
were  growing  longer  and  birds  were  singing  their 
evening  songs,  and  far  away  in  Sydenham  two  elderly 
ladies,  one  elderly  butler  and  several  elderly  servants, 
to  say  nothing  of  an  old  dog,  were  listening  anxiously 
for  the  sound  of  a  motor  car. 

And  still  these  two  young  people  sat  on  the  hill 
above  the  world  turning  dreams  into  solid  facts,  ut- 
terly indifferent  to  the  passing  of  time. 

It  was  a  very  commonplace  thing  that  brought  Jack 
down  from  the  clouds.  He  heard  the  toot  of  a  motor 
horn  away  in  the  distance  and  sprang  to  his  feet. 
"Great  Caesar's  ghost !"  he  said.  "What  are  we  play- 
ing at?" 

Dick  stretched  herself  and  heaved  a  contented  sigh. 
"Living,"  she  replied. 

The  glory  of  the  setting  sun  had  left  the  sky.  Red 
and  gold  had  melted  away.  The  broken  line  of  hori- 
zon had  become  slightly  smudged.  A  mist  lay  over 

108 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

the  valley  like  thin  smoke.  A  light  or  two  winked 
in  the  village  far  below  them. 

Hard  facts  stared  Jack  in  the  face.  His  mother, 
the  two  old  ladies — Great  Scott!  was  this  the  way 
he  played  the  game? 

Dick  was  singing  softly.  She  looked  exquisitely 
comfortable  with  her  hands  under  her  golden  hair. 

"Your  hat,"  said  Jack.  "Be  quick!  We  must  go. 
Never  mind  about  the  grub." 

"Go?    Go  where?" 

"Back,  of  course."  Jack  held  out  his  hand.  "For 
the  Lord's  sake,  get  up!" 

Dick  took  the  hand  and  got  up  and  stared  about 
her  and  looked  at  Jack's  serious  face. 

"Go?    Where?"  she  repeated. 

"Those  old  ladies — it's  not  playing  the  game." 

"Then  it's — all  over."  She  rolled  up  her  hair  and 
put  on  her  hat  and  without  a  word  followed  Jack  down 
the  hill  to  the  road.  She  heard  him  give  a  shout. 

"My  God!    Where's  the  car?" 


109 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THERE  was  no  sign  of  it.  A  little  patch  of  oil 
had  almost  dried  up.  It  must  have  been  gone 
for  hours. 

"Pinched,"  said  Dick. 

Jack  gazed  at  her  blankly.    "What  am  I  to  do  with 
you?" 

A  wave  of  sympathy  for  the  two  elderly  ladies  ran 
over  Dick.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  a  sense  of 
law  and  order  made  itself  felt.  It  had  been  fright- 
fully nice  of  them  to  let  her  go,  without  a  word,  with- 
out a  warning,  without  even  a  long  list  of  don'ts.  It 
was  nearly  dark.  Already  Emily  Sarah  and  dear  Miss 
Smedley  would  be  holding  their  third  or  fourth  con- 
sultation. Their  nerves  would  be  wrung.  The  whole 
of  Red  Lodge  would  be  in  a  state  of  chaos.  She  saw 
the  whole  thing  in  a  flash.  Almost  she  could  hear  the 
very  things  they  said — '"Dear  me!  Dear  me!  Alone 
with  that  boy,  and  cars  so  uncertain,  so  dangerous! 
Anything  may  have  happened!  Oh,  pray  God  they 
are  safe!" 

"Well,"  said  Dick,  "one  thing's  pretty  certain. 
Some  blighter's  nicked  the  car.  We  can't  get  back 
by  gazing  at  where  it  stood." 

Jack's  brain  was  reeling.    What  a  cursed  fool  he 
no 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

had  been  not  to  watch  the  time,  not  to  keep  an  eye 
on  the  car !  He  was  responsible  for  this  girl.  "What's 
to  be  done?"  he  asked. 

"My  good  Jack,  the  choice  is  limited.  Either  we 
go  by  train  or  walk." 

With  another  exclamation  Jack  stuck  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  and  started  a  more  and  more  worried 
search.  He  had  a  latchkey,  a  penknife,  a  box  of 
matches,  a  beautifully  ripe  pipe,  a  battered  tobacco 
pouch,  a  glove  button,  a  'bus  ticket,  but  not  one  blessed 
cent. 

Dick  stamped  with  impatience.  She  wanted  to  get 
back  as  much  as  she  had  wanted  to  get  away.  The 
two  elderly  ladies  had  been  very  kind.  She  was  dog- 
like  in  her  gratitude  for  kindness.  "Oh,  Jack,  what 
is  the  matter?  What  in  the  world  are  you  playing  at?" 

"Not  a  bean !"  said  Jack.  "And  not  a  blessed  thing 
that  I  can  sell.  I'm  most  frightfully  sorry,  but  we 
must  walk.  How  far  is  it?" 

And  then  all  the  devil  in  Dick  took  hold  of  her. 
This  was  the  most  epoch-making  adventure  of  her 
life.  One  more  night  on  the  top  of  the  hill!  Let 
elderly  ladies  fume  and  fret!  Let  Jack  lose  his  motor 
and  his  hair!  Let  every  one  of  the  inhabitants  of 
the  earth  go  dotty!  What  did  it  matter?  The  thing 
couldn't  be  helped.  Let  it  be  enjoyed. 

"How  far?"  she  cried.  "A  thousand  miles,  and  if 
you  want  to  walk  there,  you  may." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"What  I  say,  Jacko.  Walk  there!  Go  on,  walk 
there!  And  when  you  ring  the  bell  of  Red  Lodge 

in 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

somewhere  about  eleven  o'clock  to-morrow  morning, 
looking  like  a  tramp,  give  'em  all  my  dear  love." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  repeated  Jack. 

"Don't  I  make  myself  quite  clear?  I  am  staying 
here.  Alone.  I  shall  wait  here  with  the  remains  of 
the  cake  and  a  bun  or  two  until  you  show  up  with 
another  car  with  a  letter  of  commiseration  from 
Emily  Sarah."  She  could  hardly  contain  her  excite- 
ment. She  took  off  her  hat  and  sent  it  skimming  into 
the  air  as  though  it  were  a  plate.  She  threw  up  her 
arms  in  the  manner  of  an  Indian  native  and  whirled 
around  and  around. 

"You're  mad!"  said  Jack. 

"Qui-ri,  Jacko.  Mad  as  a  blooming  March  hare, 
old  boy.  Oh,  it's  my  delight  on  a  shiny  night  in  the 
saison  of  the  yar " 

Jack  seized  her  by  the  shoulders  roughly  and  tried 
to  hold  her.  She  was  like  an  eel,  but  he  held  her 
tight  by  main  force.  "Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he 
said,  "that  you're  really  going  to  stay  here  alone,  or 
are  you  bluffing?" 

An  odd  look  of  Tony  came  into  her  face — Tony 
when  diplomatizing  himself  out  of  a  tight  corner, 
Tony  at  his  most  specious.  "My  dear  old  boy,"  she 
said,  "what  else  is  there  to  do  ?  Car  gone.  No  money 
for  a  train.  Nothing  on  you  worth  twopence  half- 
penny and  walking  a  mere  farce.  Don't  you  see  that 
if  we  were  to  tramp  a  consistent  four  miles  an  hour 
we  shouldn't  even  then  get  to  Sydenham  until  break- 
fast had  been  cleared  away  and  washed  up.  It's — 
why,  dash  it,  it's  sixty  miles." 

112 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"No,  it  isn't.     It's  barely  forty." 

"Well,  what's  fours  into  forty — you  see?  It's  the 
hill,  old  man.  It's  the  hill.  There's  no  way  out  of 
it — hurray!" 

Jack  was  in  a  fever.  Once  again  he  went  over 
every  one  of  his  pockets.  "I'll  sell  my  clothes,"  he 
said,  "to  get  the  fare." 

Dick's  gravity  was  portentous.  "I  don't  think," 
she  said,  "that  they  take  passengers  in  that  condition." 

"Then  I'll  borrow  money.  I'll  raise  money.  I 
can  write  a  check  on  paper  and  get  'em  to  cash  it  at 
the  pub.  Damn  it,  my  name's  good  enough.  And, 
after  all,  it's  only  a  matter  of  ten  bob." 

Dick  held  her  breath.  Somehow  or  other  she  must 
queer  that  idea.  It  was  too  good.  She  burst  out 
laughing.  "Try  it  on!"  she  said.  "Just  you  try  it 
on!  Walk  into  any  pub  in  King's  Redesborough  or 
any  tradesman  with  me  anywhere  near — well,  try 
it!" 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Jack.  "I  will  try  it  I'll  leave 
you  half  a  mile  away.  I'm  going  back  to  London  to- 
night, whatever  happens." 

Dick  held  out  her  hand.  "A  thousand  thanks  for 
a  very  pleasant  day,"  she  said.  "So  long,  dear  Mr. 
Euston.  I  hope  you'll  have  a  nice  journey." 

A  laugh  hung  on  the  air.     Dick  had  gone. 

Jack  stood  still,  but  only  for  a  moment,  half  a  mo- 
ment. If  he  didn't  follow  immediately,  she  might  give 
him  the  slip.  She  was  in  the  mood  to  do  anything. 
He  went  up  the  hill  after  her  like  a  man  possessed  of 
devils.  He  was  angry  and  glad.  He  adored  her  and 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

would  have  her  to  himself  for  a  few  more  hours.  He 
caught  her  up  at  the  top  of  the  hill. 

She  turned  fiercely,  breathing  hard.  Her  fists  were 
clenched  and  her  eyes  flashing.  "What  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"Stay  with  you." 

"You  darling!  You  angel!  You  Admiral!  Shall 
we  eat  now  or  save  it?" 

"I  dunno,"  said  Jack,  "anything  you  like."  He  sat 
down  and  loaded  a  pipe,  lit  it  and  puffed.  He  looked 
up  at  her  with  a  smile.  It  couldn't  be  worse.  It  also 
couldn't  be  better.  His  leave  was  up  to-morrow.  He 
wouldn't  see  Dick  again  for  the  Lord  knows  how  long. 
She  looked  more  beautiful  in  this  light  than  in  any 
other. 

"Hullo,"  said  Dick.  "How  is  it  you  haven't  smoked 
before  to-day?" 

"Forgot." 

"Never  occurred  to  me,  either.  If  you  haven't  got 
a  cigarette,  we're  not  on  speaking  terms." 

"Then  we're  not,"  said  Jack.  "All  I  can  give  you 
is  a  box  of  matches.  You  don't  chew,  do  you,  by 
any  chance?" 

Dick  twirled  an  imaginary  moustache.  "By 
Heaven,"  she  said.  "Wit!  Bravo,  Major!" 

Jack  howled  with  laughter.  It  was  extraordinary 
how  intensely  happy  he  felt.  He  blessed  the  man  who 
had  stolen  his  car,  and  no  longer  had  a  thought  either 
for  his  mother  or  the  two  elderly  ladies.  He  was  more 
than  ever  under  the  spell  of  this  girl 

The  night  was  exquisite.  There  was  not  a  touch 
114 


THE    OUTPOST    OF   ETERNITY 

of  autumn  in  the  air.  They  ate  the  cake  and  the  re- 
mainder of  the  buns  and  drained  every  one  of  the 
ginger  beer  bottles  for  the  last  drops,  and  jawed  hard 
while  the  moon  rose  and  the  stars  came  out  and  all 
the  little  eyes  of  the  village  blinked  at  them  from 
below.  The  mist  had  lifted  and  everything  lay  cut 
clearly  at  their  feet.  With  the  night  Dick's  mood 
changed  again.  She  was  the  Dick  of  the  moon,  the 
inarticulate  Dick,  with  eyes  full  of  poetry  and  a  sort 
of  unconscious  reverence  on  her  lips,  fumblingly.  And 
presently,  tired  like  a  child  after  a  long  day,  she  went 
closer  to  the  boy,  curled  herself  up  at  his  side  and  laid 
her  head  on  his  shoulder.  She  slept  like  a  kitten. 

And  Jack  remained  awake,  sleep  impossible,  and 
held  her  unconscious  hand  to  his  lips  adoringly.  Poor 
devil,  he  could  have  died  of  happiness. 


CHAPTER   IX 

IN  this  way  the  rising  sun  found  these  two.     In 
those  long  but  all  too  short  hours  many  thoughts 
came  to  Jack  and  one  returned  to  him — the  one 
which  passed  through  his  brain  on  the  way  to  the 
Crystal  Palace.     "She  needs  someone."     He  revised 
this.     It  was  very  natural.     It  now  ran:   "She  needs 
me." 

Far  from  having  a  disturbing  effect  on  this  boy, 
the  night  had  the  effect  of  making  him  doggedly  de- 
termined, come  what  might,  to  make  Dick  his  wife. 
He  had  seen,  he  thought,  all  her  sides.  Some  of  them 
startled,  some  appalled,  but  one,  the  big  one,  filled  him 
with  an  immense  admiration.  She  was  worth  win- 
ning, worth  working  for  and  waiting  for.  There 
was  some  magic  about  her  that  would  keep  her  a  child. 
The  day  had  come  when  he  would  be  unable  any 
longer  to  break  the  monotony  and  the  dull  goodness 
and  the  irksome  regularity  of  her  life.  He  gave  no 
thought  to  how  long  she  would  stand  it.  He  just 
knew  that  whatever  she  did,  whatever  wild,  uncon- 
trollable, savage,  unheard-of  things  that  she  rushed 
into  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  she  would  come  out 
of  unsinged.  He  knew  it.  He  was  certain  of  it. 

116 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

And  there  he  sat,  cramped  and  uncomfortable,  in 
something  of  the  sort  of  way  that  a  mother  sits  at 
the  bedside  of  a  restless  child  who  has  at  last  fallen 
asleep,  holding  a  hand  which  will  not  be  withdrawn. 

There  was  something  very  knightly  about  this  boy, 
this  very  ordinary,  crop-headed  boy.  He  had  fitted 
himself  to  ride  beside  the  gaunt  horse  of  Don  Quixote, 
that  most  perfect  knight.  He  had  played  the 
game. 

He  heard  the  birds  wake  and  the  first  bee  go  by 
and  sheep  go  bleating  along  a  road.  Like  ants,  men 
and  boys  moved  about  beneath  him,  and  then  a  work- 
man's train,  strangely  without  sound,  left  a  ribbon  of 
smoke  behind  it,  miles  away. 

He  never  moved.  The  sun  was  almost  warm  when 
Dick  stirred,  said  something  he  didn't  catch,  threw  out 
an  arm,  and  opened  her  eyes.  "In  the  middle  of  the 
ring  made  by  the  fairies  a  weird-looking  little  toad 
sat— What?" 

"I  didn't  say  anything." 

"Hullo,  Jack!  What  on  earth  are  you  doing  here? 
What'll  Emily  Sarah  say  if  she  catches  you  here? 
They  haven't  called  me  this  morning." 

She  sat  up  suddenly  and  looked  around  and  rubbed 
her  eyes  and  shivered  a  little.  "Oh,  my  hat!"  she 
said.  "Here's  a  go!" 

Jack  got  up  and  stretched  himself  and  brushed  him- 
self down.  He  was  rightfully  stiff.  A  spider  which 
had  been  ruminating  on  his  sleeve  flung  himself  into 
mid-air  and  swung  on  a  thin  thread  of  silver.  "Dick," 
he  said,  "we  now  go  down.  It'll  be  a  long  time  be- 

117 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

fore  I  sit  on  top  of  the  hill  with  you  again.  Somehow 
or  other  I'm  going  to  take  you  back  to  those  old  ladies. 
I  hope  to  goodness  they'll  believe  me." 

"No  one  could  do  anything  but  believe  you,"  said 
Dick.  "You're  like  that." 

The  boy  felt  that  she  had  tied  a  handkerchief 
around  his  left  arm. 

And  then  Dick  turned  to  him  with  an  awe-stricken 
face.  "What  are  they  doing  in  Red  Lodge?"  she 
said. 

"Wait  a  second,"  said  Jack.  "Turn  'round,  will 
you?"  He  bent  down  and  brushed  the  grass  and 
chalk  off  her  dress  with  his  cap.  "Now  then,  full 
steam  ahead." 

They  went  down  the  hill.  On  the  road  they 
walked  quickly,  elbow  to  elbow. 

"Walking?"  asked  Dick  laconically. 

"Station  first.  I'm  all  out  to  move  the  heart  of 
the  man  in  the  ticket  office.  I  forgot  all  about  my 
links  last  night.  I'll  give  him  those  for  two  singles. 
He  can  do  what  he  likes  with  the  change.  Which 
road  to  the  station?" 

"No  road,"  said  Dick,  "when  there's  a  short  cut 
across  the  fields."  She  took  the  stile  like  a  boy.  They 
plodded  on  silently  at  four  miles  an  hour.  They  only 
passed  one  old  man,  who  sang  out  good-morning. 
The  ground  on  each  side  of  them  was  all  dry  and  in 
lumps.  The  hedges  were  full  of  blackberries,  half 
ripe.  They  turned  into  the  main  road,  leaving  a  still 
sleepy  village  behind  them.  Three  hundred  yards 
short  of  the  station  there  were  four  cottages,  very 

118 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

neat,  with  little  patches  of  garden.     On  the  wall  of 
one  there  was  a  notice : 

COUNTY  POLICE 

"An  off  chance,"  said  Jack. 

He  went  up  the  path  and  knocked  at  the  door.  No 
one  came.  He  knocked  again  and  a  bullet  head  was 
thrust  out  of  a  window.  "What's  your  business?" 

"Sorry  to  bother  you,"  said  Jack.  "Just  want  to 
report  that  my  car  was  stolen  yesterday  afternoon." 

"Eh?     Oh!     Well,  wait  a  minute,  will  you?" 

Jack  grinned.  "A  little  matter  of  red  tape,"  he 
said.  Dick  was  looking  back.  Her  trees  made  a  line 
of  fretwork  against  the  sky.  They  seemed  to  be  very 
far  off. 

Five  minutes  later  the  door  was  opened  and  a  well 
set-up  policeman  in  his  shirt  sleeves  came  out.  "Oh," 
he  said,  "your  car  was  stolen,  was  it?  Wot  do  you 
generally  do  with  a  car  when  you're  tired  of  it?" 

"I  don't  follow  you,"  said  Jack. 

"Seems  a  bit  of  an  error  not  to  follow  the  car, 
don't  it?" 

Jack  became  considerably  more  lively.  "Hand  it 
over,  old  man,"  he  said.  "God  bless  you." 

"  'Ope  'e  will,  I'm  sure.  But  I  dunno  about  'andin' 
it  over.  There  was  a  car " 

"Ah!" 

"Yus,  but  wait  a  bit.  There  was  a  car  drew  in 
'ere  yesterday.  No  owner  visible." 

"And  the  reward  is?  Oh,  buck  up,  man,  buck 
up!" 

119 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Yus,  we  can  all  be  in  a  bit  of  a  'urry,  can't  we, 
when  it  soots  us  ?  A  gent — well,  I  suppose  'e's  a  gent, 
at  any  rate,  'e  'as  a  knack  of  gettin'  as  drunk  as  a 
lord,  dirty  little  toad — went  out  yesterday  afternoon  to 
look  at  the  beauties  of  nature  or  something,  found  a 
car  'angin'  about,  got  inside  it  and  went  off  to  sleep. 
Bit  o'  cheek,  but  that's  'im  to  a  turn.  Woke  up  some 
time  later,  feeling  better,  made  cooee  noises  to  attract 
attention,  failed — mind  you,  this  is  'is  story — took  a 
fancy  for  driving  the  machine,  lucky  for  'im  and  the 
car  'e  can  drive " 

"Oh,  goon!" 

"Am  goin'  on.  Don't  quite  know  why  I'm  a-tellin' 
of  yer.  And  as  I  was  say  in',  'e  tooled  about  the  coun- 
try, then  I'm  blessed  if  'e  didn't  bring  the  car  'ere 
and  land  us  with  the  thing!  And  a  nice  white  ele- 
phant it's  bin,  I  don't  think." 

"If  he's  barked  her  shin,"  said  Jack,  "I'll  have  an 
action  for  damages  against  him.  Silly  ass." 

"Oh!"  said  the  policeman  cautiously,  "it's  your  car, 
is  it?" 

"Great  Scott,  my  dear  chap,  you  don't  think  I'm 
talking  to  you  for  nothing,  do  you?" 

"That's  as  may  be.  We've  got  the  car.  It  was 
brought  'ere  as  a  strayed,  and,  as  far  as  I  can  see, 
it'll  'ave  to  stay  'ere." 

"But  it's  mine!     I  tell  you,  it's  mine." 

"But  I  might  say  it  was  mine.     What  then?" 

"Well,  damn  it,  you'd  be  a  liar,  that's  all." 

"  'Ere,  'old  on.  'Old  on.  It's  a  bit  early  for  words 
like  these  'ere."  He  scratched  his  head.  Jack  was 

1 20 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

obviously  a  gentleman.  "Dagged  if  I  know  what  I'm 
to  do,"  he  said. 

Jack  kept  his  temper.  He,  too,  was  a  victim  of  the 
endless  line  of  red  tape  which  twines  around  the  legs 
of  all  Service  men.  "May  I  suggest,  constable,"  he 
said  blandly,  "that  you  require  me  to  identify  the 
car?" 

"Just  what  I  was  thinkin'!" 

"I  saw  that,"  said  Jack,  "in  your  eye.  You've  made 
a  note  of  the  number  of  the  car,  I  take  it?" 

"I  'ave." 

"Well,  suppose  I  give  you  the  number,  and,  what's 
more,  suppose  I  produce  my  license  with  my  name  on 
it?  The  number  being  right,  the  name  remains." 

"Ah,  that's  what  I  was  thinking." 

"You  and  I  think  wonderfully  alike,  old  boy.  Well, 
there's  a  big  pocket  behind  the  driver's  seat.  In  that 
there  are  several  letters." 

"I've  seen  'em." 

"You're  bound  to  be  an  inspector.  It's  a  dead  cer- 
tainty. Number  H.  O.  4128.  Name  on  license  hereby 
produced  J.  C.  Euston.  How's  that?" 

The  policeman  read  aloud.  "Sub-Lieutenant  Hon- 
orable John  Calverly  Euston.  'Har — 'hem — mighty 
clever!"  he  said.  "Shouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  I 
took  you  in  charge." 

Jack  almost  sat  down  in  a  heap.  "If  you  do,"  he 
said,  "I'll  put  the  Admiralty  on  to  you  and  you'll  wish 
you  were  dead.  Oh,  my  dear  chap,  man  to  man, 
now!  Man  to  man!  Forget  you're  a  policeman  and 
I'll  forget  I'm  a  sub-lieutenant.  I  give  you  my  word 

121 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

of  honor  that  that  car's  mine,  that  I'm  Euston,  and 
that  I'm  in  the  devil's  own  fix.  Is  there  anything 
more  to  be  said?" 

"No,  but  there's  something  more  to  be  done.  Just 
step  inside." 

Jack  stepped  inside.  A  good  deal  of  fumbling  went 
on  and  then  a  formal  yellow  piece  of  paper  was  pro- 
duced crammed  with  printed  matter. 

"Sign  'ere,"  said  the  constable.  "Full  name  and  ad- 
dress, please." 

Jack  obeyed. 

"And  now  follow  me."  With  a  certain  amount  of 
reluctance  the  man  led  the  way  to  a  large  shed,  sev- 
eral houses  up.  It  belonged  to  a  coal  merchant.  The 
padlock  was  undone  and  the  doors  thrown  open. 
There  stood  the  car,  apparently  sound  in  wind  and 
limb. 

"  'Ire  of  shed  or  garage — well,  dagged  if  I  know. 
Owner  ain't  up." 

"Well,  how  much  do  you  think  it'll  be?"  asked 
Jack. 

"Well,  may  be  'alf  a  crown.  May  be  five  bob. 
Can't  say." 

Jack  removed  his  links.  They  were  gold  ones.  He 
handed  them  to  the  policeman. 

"Bit  irregular  ain't  it?" 

"I  paid  a  fiver  for  them,"  said  Jack.  "If  the  man 
charges  five  shillings,  there's  four  pounds  fifteen  to 
divide,  or  not,  as  the  case  may  be.  Look  out." 

He  cranked  up,  jumped  in  and  backed  her  out  in*o 
the  road,  performed  a  beautiful  piece  of  finesse,  drew 

122 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

up  opposite  to  Dick  and  said:    "Now  then!     Syden- 
ham!" 

Dick  climbed  up.  Jack  turned  the  car,  and  as  he 
passed  the  policeman,  who  stood  outside  the  shed, 
looking  intently  at  the  links,  which  lay  in  the  palm 
of  his  big  leathery  hand,  he  called  out :  "Good-morning, 
Inspector!"  and  away  he  went,  heading  for  the 
Crystal  Palace. 


123 


CHAPTER    X 

THERE  had  never  been  so  imperative  a  ring  in 
Red  Lodge  before.  A  finger  was  pressed  on 
the  button  until  the  elderly  butler,  who  had 
not  been  to  bed,  opened  the  door.  The  sound  of  it 
reverberated,  not  only  through  the  house,  but  through 
the  hearts  of  every  one  of  its  inmates.  The  two 
elderly  ladies,  tired  out  after  their  vigil,  expecting 
every  moment  news  of  an  accident,  the  little  old  house- 
keeper, who  had  been  sitting  with  her  black  silk  apron 
over  her  head,  clutched  the  arm  of  the  footman,  who, 
secretly  something  of  a  poet,  was  in  the  middle  of 
writing  a  poem  modeled  on  Whitman  in  a  penny  copy- 
book, describing  the  terrors  of  that  unforgettable 
night 

The  butler  looked  from  one  grave  young  face  to 
the  other  and  then  along  the  tessellated  path  through 
the  open  gate  at  the  car.  "Oh,  thank  God!"  he  said, 
and  tears  sprang  into  his  eyes. 

Jack  wrung  his  hand  warmly.  Dick  threw  him  a  wan 
smile  and  crept  upstairs  to  her  own  room,  where  she 
sat  on  the  foot  of  her  bed  and  stared  hard  at  the  wall. 
Everything  had  to  be  left  to  Jack.  He  had  said  so. 

"Now  then!"  said  the  boy.  "Take  me  up  to  Miss 
Okehampton." 

"Will  you  take  something  first,  sir?" 
124 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"After,  perhaps,"  said  Jack,  a  little  dryly.  "It 
rather  depends." 

The  butler  led  the  way  upstairs  and  tapped  at  the 
door  of  the  boudoir.  For  a  moment  there  was  no 
reply.  Both  ladies  dreaded  to  see  the  door  open.  It 
was  Miss  Okehampton  who  eventually  said:  "Come 
in." 

"The  Captain,"  said  the  butler. 

The  sight  of  those  two  pale  faces  and  of  the  frail, 
trembling  form  of  the  dear  little  old-fashioned  lady 
who  made  a  landmark  in  his  life  stopped  Jack's  flow 
of  cheerful  commonplaces.  Instead,  he  went  forward 
perfectly  naturally  and  said:  "She's  safe.  Your 
prayers  are  heard." 

Miss  Okehampton  only  moved  her  lips.  Miss  Smed- 
ley,  however,  burst  into  tears. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you.    May  I  have  ten  minutes  ?" 

Miss  Okehampton  had  a  great  sense  of  loyalty.  It 
was,  of  course,  true  that  Miss  Smedley,  although  a 
gentlewoman,  was  a  dependant.  It  was  equally  true 
that  certain  matters,  family  matters,  were  not  dis- 
cussed in  her  hearing.  But  the  sympathy,  the  extraor- 
dinary optimism,  the  tenderness,  the  unselfishness  of 
Miss  Smedley  throughout  that  night  made  her  no 
longer  a  dependant  but  a  friend,  and  when  Miss  Smed- 
ley turned  toward  the  door  she  was  asked  to  stay. 
"Be  seated,  dear,"  said  Miss  Okehampton.  "You 
have  as  much  right  to  this  room  as  I  have." 

It  is  very  good,  very  helpful,  very  necessary  to  be 
rewarded.  Dear  Miss  Smedley  felt  that  even  her  life 
had  compensations. 

12=; 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Jack  stood  in  front  of  the  two  ladies. 

"Dick  is  safe,"  he  repeated.  "In  any  case,  you  had 
to  be  worried  yesterday.  I  couldn't  have  brought  her 
back  until  long  after  dark.  I  told  you  in  the  morn- 
ing that  I  love  Dick.  I  lost  my  head  when  I  found 
I  had  her  all  to  myself.  So  would  you.  We  had — 
well,  I  don't  quite  know  how  to  describe  the  day.  I'm 
not  a  literary  gent.  But  when  finally  I  woke  up  and 
thought  of  you  the  car  had  gone.  Stolen,  well — as  it 
happened — borrowed.  I  had  no  money.  I  decided 
not  to  walk,  although  Dick  wanted  to,  because  she 
was  pretty  tired,  and  we  shouldn't  have  arrived  until 
later  than  it  is  now.  We  went  back  to  the  top  of  the 
hill,  Dick's  particular  hill,  finished  the  cake  and  talked, 
and  then  Dick  went  to  sleep  with  her  head  on  my 
shoulder  and  I  settled  things  for  the  future,  I  mean 
my  future,  which,  of  course,  includes  hers.  That's 
all.  I  won't  worry  you  with  the  details  of  how  I  found 
the  car.  I'll  only  say  that  I'm  most  frightfully  sorry 
for  giving  you  this  fright.  And  please  don't  say  any- 
thing to  Dick." 

When  he  finished  Jack  went  down  on  his  knees  at 
Miss  Okehampton's  side  and  put  his  face  against  her 
arm,  the  thin  arm  clad  in  black  silk,  and  his  shoulders 
shook  rather  horribly. 

It  was  then  that  Miss  Smedley  got  up  softly  and 
tiptoed  away.  There  was  a  little  smile  on  her  tear- 
stained  face.  Cupid  had  never  been  so  near  her  before. 

Jack  got  up  all  too  soon,  looking  mightily  ashamed. 
"Oh,  damn !"  he  said.  "I  beg  your  pardon.  But  she's 
— she's — oh,  I  dunno.  I  think  I'd  better  cut  off  to 

126 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

mother.  I'm  off  to-day,  you  know.  Be  good  to  Dick." 
And  when  Miss  Okehampton  was  alone  she  sat  per- 
fectly still.  She  was  looking  back  along  a  never-to- 
be-retraveled  road  at  the  face  of  a  man  who  had  never 
spoken. 


127 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE  routine  of  Red  Lodge  was  sadly  broken. 
The  two  ladies  went  to  bed  some  hours  later 
than  they  always  got  up.  Dick's  breakfast 
was  taken  to  her  bedroom  with  Miss  Okehampton's 
love.  The  butler  dozed  over  his  Daily  Mail.  The 
housekeeper  fell  asleep  in  the  linen  room,  in  which 
there  was  a  faint  aroma  of  lavender.  The  maids  went 
yawning  about  their  work  and  the  footman  retired  to 
the  seclusion  of  his  little  bedroom  and  finished  his 
poem.  It  ran  to  two  hundred  and  eighty-seven  lines. 
Even  in  the  stables  the  effects  of  anxiety  were  still 
felt.  The  coachman  neglected  to  polish  the  silver  on 
the  harness,  placed  a  wooden  chair  outside  the  stable 
door  and  fell  into  a  profound  slumber,  with  a  quid 
of  tobacco  making  a  strange  bulge  in  his  old  cheek. 

Dick,  in  her  bedroom,  no  longer  troubled  as  to  the 
attitude  of  Miss  Okehampton,  left  her  breakfast  un- 
touched. Jack  had  gone.  Jack — and  all  that  he  meant. 
Jack,  who  alone  possessed  the  key  of  the  great  gates 
that  shut  her  off  from  life.  Jack,  who  hadn't  even 
troubled  to  say  good-bye  and  who  never  looked  up 
before  he  drove  away. 

She  couldn't  help  it.  She  had  one  great  fit  of  silent 
weeping.  It  was  the  reaction.  It  was  due  to  a  sense 

128 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

of  loneliness,  almost  of  homesickness.  Jack  had  gone. 
She  had  grown  to  look  upon  him  as  a  brother.  Good 
old  Jack,  what  a  corker  he  was !  She  thought  of  him 
in  no  other  way  than  as  good  old  Jack. 

But  young  things  easily  recover,  especially  when 
they're  hungry.  She  ate  every  bit  of  the  cold  break- 
fast and  drank  every  drop  of  the  cold  coffee.  And 
then  she  began  to  wish  that  even  Miss  Smedley  would 
come  up  and  take  her  to  the  postoffice  in  order  to 
permit  the  elderly  dog  to  enjoy  a  little  gentle  exercise. 

But  no  one  came  near  her  until  a  maid  appeared 
with  a  late  but  particularly  nice  luncheon,  with  Miss 
Okehampton's  "apologies  and  hopes  that  Miss  Dick 
had  slept  well." 

Dick  checked  a  rush  of  slangy  irritability  and  re- 
stricted herself  to  the  following  message:  "Please 
tell  Miss  Okehampton  that  I  am  now  able  to  sit  up 
and  take  nourishment,  and  for  God's  sake  bring  me 
a  yellowback  or  I  shall  have  a  fit." 

The  maid  was  a  sentimentalist.  Jack  was  her  bow 
idil.  She  had  watched  what  she  took  to  be  the  course 
of  a  love  episode  with  a  sympathetic  flutter.  Even 
she,  though  nicely  brought  up,  would  have  been  very 
near  similar  strong  words  under  the  circumstances. 

And  then  sleep  laid  its  consoling  hand  upon  Dick's 
restless  and  mutinous  brain.  She  flung  herself  on  her 
bed  and  returned  in  spirit  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  to 
listen  and  watch  and  run  wild. 

The  maid  who  brought  tea  left  it  and  crept  away. 
She  was  not  the  same  maid.  She  had  heard  one  or 
two  epoch-making  outbursts  from  Dick  and  they  had 

129 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

staggered  her.  But  she  told  herself  as  she  went  down- 
stairs that  she  had  never  seen  anyone  look  so  like  an 
angel  outside  an  illustrated  Christmas  number. 

And  then  dinner  came  with  another  charming  little 
message  and  Dick  fell  upon  it.  It  broke  the  appalling 
monotony.  It  relieved  the  tension  of  this  ultra-super- 
fine household. 

When  the  sun  had  set  and  the  windows  of  the 
house  behind  the  chestnut  trees  opposite  no  longer 
looked  as  though  the  rooms  were  on  fire,  Dick  sub- 
mitted to  the  nightly  torture  of  having  her  hair  brushed 
and  of  being  undressed.  She  always  wanted  to  scream 
when  she  saw  her  clothes  neatly  folded,  the  clothes 
she  would  dearly  like  to  have  pitched  all  over  the 
room.  She  got  up  when  left  alone  and  deliberately 
swept  her  ship-shape  dressing-table  into  chaos  and 
chucked  her  things  here  and  there.  Then  she  sat  at 
the  open  window  and  sent  off  a  series  of  marconi- 
grams  to  Jack.  "Good-bye,  Jacko!  You're  a  sports- 
man. Jack,  old  man,  won't  we  just  put  in  some  top- 
ping times  when  you  come  back — so-long!" 

Somewhere  near  two  clumsy,  lugubrious  hands  were 
playing  the  piano.  The  tunes  were  of  the  solid  and 
meaty  order,  with  potatoes  and  gravy  and  mint  sauce 
and  cauliflower  and  everything  else  that  appertains 
to  a  thoroughly  English  dish,  and  were  ghastly.  And 
then  a  throaty  man  sang  drawing-room  songs  of  the 
cheerful,  tombstone  order,  equally  English,  equally 
ghastly.  Some  people  enjoyed  themselves,  at  any  rate. 

She  heard  a  policeman  approaching  and  with  great 
interest  watched  him  pass  and  listened  to  his  foot- 
no 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

steps  as  they  died  away.  The  musicians  persisted  un- 
til a  clock  in  the  distance  struck  eleven,  when,  with  a 
sigh  of  thankfulness,  she  heard  the  piano  close.  Syden- 
ham  had  its  points.  Then  a  man  went  by  on  a  bicycle. 
He  was  evidently  a  beginner  and  was  practicing  in 
the  night.  His  wobbly  course  amused  her.  And  then 
she  went  back  to  bed  and  tried  to  sleep  and  thought 
of  Harry  and  knew  that  if  she  were  free  she  might 
just  be  having  supper  at  the  Circus  Hotel,  with  the 
laughter  of  people  everywhere  and  the  band  playing 
tunes  that  would  make  her  want  to  dance.  An  over- 
whelming desire  took  possession  of  her  to  dress  and 
climb  out  of  the  window  and  slide  down  the  pipe  on  to 
the  roof  of  the  morning-room  and  then  down  the  wis- 
taria to  the  path,  and  so  away.  She  fought  with  it. 
Emily  Sarah  had  been  very  good,  almost  too  good. 
If  only  she  were  an  old  cat  who  nagged  her!  Then 
she  would  have  an  excuse. 

She  remained  in  bed,  struggling  to  sleep.  All  the 
same,  a  little  devil  whispered  in  her  ear  and  put  into 
her  brain  the  idea  that  she  had  a  grievance.  Why 
was  she  here  and  Harry  in  the  middle  of  things! 
Harry  was  younger  than  she  was,  and  yet  she  had 
a  topping  time  and  knew  delightful  men  and  went 
everywhere.  It  was  amazing  that  this  thing  had  never 
occurred  to  her  before.  Having  occurred,  it  gathered 
itself  into  an  enormous  ball,  which  seemed  to  roll  down 
and  crush  her. 

She  buried  her  head  under  the  blanket  and  said :  "I 
will  sleep.  I  will!  To-morrow  there  are  lessons  and 
the  two  old  ladies  and  the  old  dog  and  the  antimacas- 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

sars,  prayers,  the  drive  out,  the  little  walk,  that  awful 
dinner,  more  lessons,  more  prayers  and  bed." 

And  then  suddenly  the  clothes  were  flung  off.  Dick 
made  a  dart  for  her  jacket.  Yes,  Jack's  cigarette  case 
was  there !  And  it  was  full.  Joy !  She  lit  her  candle, 
seized  upon  a  copybook,  a  pencil  and  the  cigarette 
case,  sat  up  in  bed  and  wrote  poetry,  smoking  like 
a  factory. 

It  was  the  duty  of  the  butler  to  make  an  inspection 
of  the  house  after  the  ladies  were  in  bed  in  stockinged 
feet  in  order  to  see  that  there  was  no  escape  of  gas 
and  that  the  servants'  lights  were  out.  Also,  he  was 
required  to  see  that  the  many  ingenious  and  altogether 
useless  burglar  traps  were  properly  set.  So  great  had 
been  the  disturbance  in  that  regular  household  that  the 
butler,  for  the  first  time  in  the  memory  of  man,  had 
forgotten  this  important  task.  He  hurried  from  his 
bed  somewhere  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
dressed  himself  hastily  and  crept  guiltily  along  the 
various  passages.  As  he  passed  Dick's  door,  quivering 
at  every  creak,  he  detected  a  strange  aroma. 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  he  said.  "Something  burn- 
ing." 

He  sniffed  and  sniffed  again.  He  was  not  mistaken. 
The  house  was  on  fire.  The  ladies  must  be  saved  at  all 
costs.  He  ran  to  Miss  Okehampton's  door  and 
knocked  loudly.  Then  he  opened  the  door.  "Don't 
be  frightened,  madam,"  he  said,  "but  I  think  you'd 
better  dress.  Something's  burning." 

He  went  to  Miss  Smedley's  door,  congratulating 
himself  upon  his  coolness  under  emergencies — "I  will 

132 


'  They  all  saw  Dick  sitting  up  in  bed,  cigarette  in  mouth. 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

be  the  last,"  he  said,  "to  leave  the  wreck" — and  then 
he  warned  the  servants,  returned  to  Miss  Okehamp- 
ton's  passage  and  found  her  with  a  woolen  petticoat 
around  her  shoulders,  trying  to  soothe  Miss  Smed- 
ley's  hysteria. 

"I  smell  nothing,"  she  said.  "And  you  know  how 
keen  my  sense  of  smell  is." 

This  was  something  of  a  shock  to  the  butler,  some- 
thing of  a  damper.  He  might  have  overlooked  his 
duty,  but  he  certainly  had  not  partaken  of  illicit  in- 
toxicants. "Please  to  follow  me,  madam,"  he  said. 
He  led  the  way  to  Dick's  door.  He  was  well  re- 
warded. 

Miss  Okehampton  sniffed.  Miss  Smedley  sniffed. 
The  housekeeper,  who  now  came  upon  the  scene, 
sniffed.  The  maid  sniffed  and  the  old  dog  sneezed. 

"Break  open  the  door!"  cried  Miss  Okehampton. 

The  butler  opened  it  and  stood  back,  expecting  a 
rush  of  flames.  Instead  a  beautiful  scent  of  Egyptian 
cigarettes  filled  the  air.  It  was  a  new  smell  in  that 
house.  Even  the  coachman  only  smoked  in  his  yard 
when  the  wind  was  in  the  south. 

Through  a  great  mist  they  all  saw  Dick  sitting  up 
in  bed,  cigarette  in  mouth,  with  a  little  mountain  of 
cigarette  ends  decorating  the  saucer-like  stand  of  her 
candlestick. 

"Leave  me,"  said  Miss  Okehampton.     "All  of  you." 

She  entered  the  room  and  shut  the  door. 

********* 
An  hour  later,  trembling  in  every  limb  with  excite- 
133 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

ment,  anger,  and  perhaps  a  little  regret  for  having 
said  things  which  even  Tony  in  his  soberest  moments 
could  hardly  have  worded  so  picturesquely  or  with 
such  a  complete  knowledge  of  biblical  distortion,  a 
slight  figure  skimmed  down  the  water  pipe  onto  the 
roof  of  the  morning- room,  put  her  feet  into  the 
branches  of  the  wistaria,  scuttled  across  the  well-kept 
garden  to  the  gate,  went  out  into  the  road,  and  left 
the  glistening  roof  of  the  Crystal  Palace  behind. 


134 


CHAPTER   XII 

IT  was  half-past  five  when  Dick  stood  on  the 
Albert  Bridge  and  watched  the  water  lapping 
along.  The  tide  was  going  down.  As  well  as 
she  could  remember,  she  had  followed  the  roads  taken 
by  Jack  in  his  car.  The  relief  of  finding  herself  at 
last  on  an  open  space,  able  to  breathe,  after  having 
tramped  through  miles  of  smug  slums,  through  the 
hideous  and  sordid  villadom  of  the  suburbs,  was  tre- 
mendous. She  watched  a  Rochester  barge  go  under 
the  bridge  with  wind  and  tide,  its  large  brown  sail 
bellied  out,  its  owner,  tanned  down  to  his  throat, 
sitting  on  the  highly  decorated  cabin  rail,  holding  on 
to  the  thick  pole  of  the  rudder,  a  sort  of  country  bar- 
ber's pole,  painted  like  a  sugar  stick.  A  nose-warmer 
clay  pipe,  quite  black,  was  stuck  between  his  teeth. 
It  left  a  thin  trickle  of  smoke.  When  Dick  decided 
to  become  a  composer  it  had  never  occurred  to  her 
how  admirable  a  career  barge  sailing  was.  From 
that  moment  she  would  reconsider  her  future.  How 
ripping  to  slip  down  the  river,  with  the  wind  flapping 
the  sail,  and  a  darling  little  cabin  in  which  to  cook 
savory  messes!  As  to  its  being  dull,  bosh!  You 
could  have  races  with  other  barges  and  back  your- 

135 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

self  for  a  shilling.  How  splendid  Tony  would  look 
lying  full  stretch  on  the  black  tarpaulin,  with  his  fair 
mustache  burnt  with  the  sun  and  a  jolly  old  pint  pot 
of  beer  somewhere  near!  Think  of  his  cheery  pass- 
ing remarks !  He'd  open  the  eyes  of  the  bargees,  bless 
his  heart! 

However,  she  had  still  some  way  to  go.  Her  des- 
tination was  Jermyn  Street — 172  B,  from  which 
Harry  wrote  occasional  letters,  very  occasional.  She 
left  the  bridge  and  the  river  and  with  rather  dragging 
feet  plunged  into  the  slums,  here  and  there  rendered 
even  more  sordid  by  a  great  block  of  red  flats  with 
windows  of  bottled  glass,  until  she  came  into  what 
is  called  Lower  Sloane  Street.  Shops  were  still  shut. 
From  time  to  time  men  hurried  along  to  work.  The 
sun  tried  to  find  its  way  through  a  sort  of  mist.  On 
went  Dick,  recognizing  buildings  that  had  caught  her 
eye  before.  She  fumbled  her  way  at  last  to  Hyde 
Park  Corner.  Motor  'buses  were  running.  On  the 
steps  of  clubs  men  in  shirt  sleeves  were  shaking  mats. 
The  reluctant  life  of  London  had  begun  again.  Dick 
kept  to  the  Park  side  of  the  street.  Its  gates  had  been 
opened  and  a  steady  stream  of  flotsam  and  jetsam  was 
going  into  it  to  squat  upon  its  burnt-up  turf  and 
snatch  a  little  uneasy  sleep.  In  Piccadilly  there  were 
further  signs  of  renewed  life.  Shop  steps  were  being 
washed  by  slatternly  women.  The  tube  station  was 
open  and  people  went  in  and  came  out  like  bees,  and 
then  it  was  that  Dick  went  up  to  a  very  stout  police- 
man. 

"Can  you  tell  me  the  way  to  Jermyn  Street?" 
136 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Can  a  duck  swim?"  said  he.  And  then  he  looked 
at  this  simply  dressed  girl  with  the  big  eyes,  who  wore 
no  gloves  and  carried  no  umbrella.  He  knew  at  once 
that  this  golden  hair  was  golden.  His  tone  altered. 
"See  a  boot  shop  down  there,  missy?" 

"Yes,"  said  Dick.     She  was  awfully  tired. 

"Well,  just  on  this  side  of  it  by  them  railings  there's 
a  passage  or  alleyway.  Cut  down  there  and  Jermyn 
Street  runs  right  and  left." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Dick.  "Some  day  I  hope  to 
know  London  as  well  as  you  do." 

"  'Ope  not,  missy.    Good-morning." 

"Good-morning,"  said  Dick. 

She  came  out  into  Jermyn  Street  opposite  a  fish 
shop,  whose  tiled  floor  was  being  swished  by  a  cheer- 
ful man  who  whistled  a  London  version  of  an  Ameri- 
can ragtime.  She  saw  from  its  number  that  her  des- 
tination lay  to  the  left.  The  narrow  street,  with  its 
old  and  somewhat  insalubrious  houses,  here  and  there 
refronted,  here  and  there  made  modern  by  the  smart 
mahogany  doors  of  a  small  family  hotel,  felt  colder 
than  usual.  She  hurried  along,  examining  each  door 
for  its  number.  Almost  at  the  bottom  of  the  street 
she  came  to  1726.  Under  the  number  there  was  a 
card  upon  which  was  printed  "Bachelor  Chambers." 
With  a  great  sigh  of  relief  she  went  through  the 
open  door  into  a  small  and  rather  dingy  hall.  An 
old  man  who  might  have  been  a  retired  valet  was 
rubbing  a  whitish  liquid  on  a  brass  bell. 

"Lord  Thoresby  lives  here,  doesn't  he?"  she  said. 

"Eh?    Oh,  law,  no." 

137 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"What!"  cried  Dick.  "And  I'm  doggo,  absolutely 
doggo !" 

"No.  No  dogs  allowed  'ere.  There  ain't  been  a 
dog  for — let  me  see  now." 

"But  I  was  told  that  Lord  Thoresby  did  live  here." 

"Eh?"  It's  an  amazing  thing  that  deaf  people  go 
out  of  their  way  to  pretend  that  they  don't  hear  when 
they  hear  perfectly  well.  "Well,  them  as  told  you 
that  Lord  Thoresby  lived  'ere  was  right.  'E  did.  But 
it  don't  foller  because  a  gent  lives  'ere  once  'e  lives 
'ere  forever." 

Dick  sat  down  on  the  nearest  chair.  There  were 
two  and  both  looked  as  though  they  had  come  from 
a  railway  hotel  in  the  midlands. 

Hitherto  the  old  man  had  not  given  his  attention 
to  Dick.  He  heard  a  little  sob  and  was  interested. 
He  put  down  the  tin  and  the  rag,  fumbled  in  a  waist- 
coat pocket  for  his  glasses  and  hooked  them  over  his 
ears.  He  then  became  more  than  interested — a  little, 
perhaps,  surprised.  "Why,  God  bless  me,  the  girl's 
a  lady!" 

"You  wish  to  see  Lord  Thoresby,  miss?" 

"I  must!"  said  Dick.    "I  must." 

"If  I  can  'elp  you,  you  shall.  You  must  excuse  my 
being  a  little  abrupt  to  you  before.  These  are  bach- 
elor chambers,  you  know,  and  we  'ave  a  lot  of  what 
I  call  mixers  'ere,  this  being  Jermyn  Street,  ancf  so 
on.  Now  it  so  'appens  that  his  lordship  removed  'is 
self  yesterday.  The  address  'is  man  left  behind  was 
of  a  flat  in  Piccadilly,  on  the  first  floor.  You  can't 
miss  it.  It's  got  a  big  bow  window  at  the  corner  of 

138 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

the  street,  'Alf  Moon  Street.  A  nice  place,  fit  for  a 
peer  or  a  real  gent  with  no  visible  means  of  sub- 
sistence." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Dick.  She  got  up.  She  won- 
dered whether  she  would  be  able  to  walk  so  far. 

"Know  yer  way,  miss?" 

"No,  but  I  daresay  someone  will  tell  me." 

"Why,  dear  me  now,  I'll  tell  you,  and  me  old  enough 
to  be  yer  grandfather!  Now,  look  'ere.  Go  right  to 
the  top  of  this  'ere  street.  As  soon  as  you're  at  the 
top  turn  to  the  right.  Cross  the  road,  minding  'ow 
you  go,  and  then  turn  sharp  to  your  left  again.  Keep 
right  on  till  you  come  to  'Alf  Moon  Street.  You  can't 
miss  it,  and  the  door  of  this  'ere  place  is  the  first 
'round  the  corner.  Ring  and  knock.  I'd  come  with 
yer  meself,  on'y  my  young  man's  'ad  to  be  sent  away. 
'E's  a  klepto,  poor  chap.  Suffers  from  what  they  call 
epiklepto  fits.  Are  you  all  right?" 

Dick  smiled  at  him.  "Quite  all  right,"  she  said. 
"Good-bye.  Thank  you  very  much." 

The  man,  who  knew  bachelors,  watched  the  tired 
girl  out  of  sight.  As  a  sort  of  last  effort  of  concen- 
tration Dick  followed  the  directions.  At  nearly  every 
doorway  in  St.  James's  Street  pale-faced  men  in  shirt 
sleeves  were  busily  at  work.  In  Piccadilly  there  was 
now  a  line  of  taxicabs  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and 
motor  'buses  were  flying  even  more  often  than  before. 

"Taxi,  lady?" 

"No  money,"  said  Dick. 

The  man  laughed.  "Well,  give  us  a  bit  of  yer  'air. 
That's  gold  enough." 

139 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Dick  dodged  an  omnibus  and  turned  to  the  left,  and 
when  at  last  she  rang  and  knocked  she  could  hardly 
see  the  very  smart  door  for  a  blur  in  front  of  her 
eyes. 

A  thin,  youngish  man  opened  the  door.  His  hair 
was  very  black  and  had  obviously  only  just  been 
wetted. 

"Is  Lord  Thoresby  at  home?" 

The  man  could  not  have  looked  more  surprised  if 
he  had  been  told  that  the  Germans  had  landed  in  Eng- 
land. "  'E  is,  miss,"  he  said,  "but  I  'aven't  taken  up 
'is  early  cup  of  tea  yet.  I  beg  pardon,  but  it's  barely 
seven  o'clock." 

"Please  tell  him  that  Miss  Okehampton  must  see 
him,  tmistf" 

"Miss  Okehampton?"  The  name  came  glibly. 
"But  you  ain't " 

"I  said  Okehampton.  Will  you  please  do  what  you 
are  told!" 

The  man  turned  and  went  quickly  upstairs.  His 
eyebrows  were  raised.  There  was  something  very 
funny  here. 

Dick  sat  down  on  the  stairs  and  leaned  her  head 
against  the  wall.  "Oh,  God!"  she  said,  "I'm  doggo." 

It  was  not  until  the  third  knock  that  Thoresby 
alighted  from  the  electric  tramcar  that  he  had  been 
driving  down  Broadway.  He  had  knocked  off  for 
dinner.  "What?"  he  said. 

The  man  went  in.  "Beg  pardon,  my  lord.  There's 
Miss  Okehampton  to  see  you." 

"What?"  There  was  immense  irritation  in 
140 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Thoresby's  voice.  "But  I'm  not  up.  Dash  it!  It's 
the  middle  of  the  night.  My  compliments,  or  rather 
my  kind  regards — no,  you'd  better  say  love — and  could 
Miss  Okehampton  make  it  convenient  to  call  about 
nine  o'clock  to  breakfast?" 

"Very  good,  my  lord."  The  man  went  out  and 
went  in  again.  "I  beg  pardon,  my  lord,  but  it  isn't 
that  Miss  Okehampton." 

"Oh,  go  away,"  said  Thoresby. 

"Very  good,  my  lord.  But  this  Miss  Okehampton 
said  that  she  must  see  you,  she  must.  Very  sorry,  my 
lord." 

It  dawned  on  Thoresby  that  there  was  something 
very  funny  here.  "Oh,  Gee!"  he  said.  "What  are 
you  talking  about?  I  only  know  one  Miss  Okehamp- 
ton." 

"So  I  thought,  my  lord.  But  this  is  another.  She 
calls  'erself  Miss  Okehampton  and  I  can't  'elp  be- 
lievin'  'er.  She  must  see  you,  she  says,  she  must." 

Thoresby  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  man  had 
not  been  drinking.  He  got  onto  his. elbow.  "Now, 
then,"  he  said,  "let's  go  into  this.  What  is  this  Miss 
Okehampton  like?" 

"Well,  my  lord,  if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so, 
she's  as  different  from  the  other  Miss  Okehampton 
as  a  spring  morning  from  a  fog — golden  'air,  big  gray 
eyes,  what  they  call  a  hovular  face,  and " 

"And  be  damned !"  said  Thoresby,  springing  out  of 
bed.  "Show  Miss  Okehampton  into  the  sitting-room, 
and  say  I'll  be  down  at  once." 

It  was  Dick! — Dick,  whom  he  had  watched  all  one 
141 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

summer  night.  By  thunder,  yes.  She  was  different 
from  Harry  as  a  spring  morning  from  a  fog.  Why 
had  she  come? 

He  got  into  a  new  and  particularly  excellent  dress- 
ing-gown. He  thrust  his  feet  into  a  pair  of  new 
Russian  leather  heel-less  slippers  and  then  he  did  his 
hair.  He  got  to  the  door,  opened  it,  went  back  into 
the  room,  pulled  open  a  drawer  of  his  dressing-table, 
took  out  an  absolutely  new  white  silk  handkerchief 
and  made  a  stock  of  it.  Then  he  went  downstairs 
two  at  a  time. 

He  saw  Dick  sitting  in  the  window  seat.  A  faint 
touch  of  sun  had  fastened  upon  her  hair.  Her  hat 
was  off  and  she  looked  like  a  flower  upon  which  the 
rain  had  not  fallen  for  a  week. 

"Dick!"  he  cried,  "Dick!" 


142 


CHAPTER   XIII 

OBEYING  urgent  orders,  Stokes  brought  in 
breakfast,  and  an  excellent  breakfast,  before 
the  very  new  little  clock  on  the  mantelpiece 
had  struck  half-past  seven.  He  found  his  lordship 
sitting  quite  far  away  from  the  young  lady,  looking 
at  her  as  one  who  has  been  through  the  desert  looks 
at  water.  At  least,  that  was  his  idea.  Dick  was  laugh- 
ing and  smoking  a  cigarette. 

"All  right,  Stokes,"  said  Thoresby.  "When  I  ring 
it  will  be  for  more  toast.  Come  on,  Dick.  You  must 
be  starving." 

"Standing's  a  silly  ass  word,"  said  Dick.  "Do  you 
know  that  I've  had  nothing  really  sound  to  eat  since 
dinner-time  last  night?" 

"Well,  good  Lord,  that's  not  long!" 

"It's  a  hundred  miles  of  endless  streets,  that's  all." 
She  looked  at  the  breakfast  table  with  its  new  and 
pristine  silver  and  its  plates,  which  seemed  never  to 
have  been  used  before.  "Aren't  we  doing  ourselves 
rather  proud  here,  old  boy?"  she  asked.  "Aren't  we 
cutting  just  a  bit  of  a  dash?" 

Thoresby  bent  forward  a  little.  If  she  was  hungry, 
so  was  he.  "And  as  to  a  fortune,  to  quote  you,  that's 

143 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

a  silly  ass  word.  His  lordship  has  money  to  burn, 
stacks  of  the  stuff.  It's  almost  silly." 

Dick  raised  her  cup  of  coffee.  "Cheers!"  she  said. 
"Hearty  congrats!  You  won't  find  a  stack  of  sports- 
men to  help  you  to  spend  it,  I  don't  think.  How  did 
you  do  it?" 

"I  didn't  do  it.  It  did  itself.  A  relation  of  my 
father's — I  never  saw  her,  but  she  must  have  been 
a  most  charming,  sympathetic  old  lady — left  whoever 
succeeded  to  the  tide  enough  and  more  than  enough 
to  keep  his  end  up  with  dignity."  He  suddenly  threw 
back  his  head  and  went  off  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 

Dick  was  very  busy  with  her  knife  and  fork.  "Oh, 
it  takes  you  like  that,  does  it?" 

"Yes.  Every  three  hours.  I've  laughed  more  since 
I  received  five  thousand  pounds  on  account  from  my 
solicitors — the  wills  has  got  to  be  proved  and  all  that 
sort  of  truck — than  ever  before  in  my  life.  The  bean- 
less  Billy  Russon  pillowed  upon  the  downy  back  of 
the  oof  bird,  able  to  write  a  check  just  whenever  he 
takes  it  into  his  head  and  know,  what's  more,  that 
it'll  be  met  with  alacrity.  The  ubiquitous  Billy  Rus- 
son, whose  whole  life  has  been  spent  very  completely 
on  the  long  trail,  in  a  harbor  made  by  Hamptons — 
my  dear,  I  give  you  my  word  that  I  chose  and  fur- 
nished this  place  with  my  brow  mantling  with  blushes, 
as  though  I  were  a  bridegroom.  Look  at  it!  Did 
you  ever  see  anything  like  it?  I  should  think  I  paid 
at  least  twice  as  much  for  everything  as  it  is  worth 
on  purpose,  just  to  feel  the  sensation.  I  slept  here 
for  the  first  time  last  night,  and  I  stand  up  this  morn- 

144 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

ing  refurnished  and  redecorated  from  head  to  foot. 
Billy  Russon  is  dead.  Long  live  the  Earl  of  Thoresby ! 
There's  only  one  other  thing  left  for  me  to  do — to  sit 
among  my  brother  peers  and  help  to  govern  my 
country." 

"Yes,  I  don't  think!"  said  Dick. 

"More  scrambled  eggs?" 

"I  hoped  you'd  ask  me  that.  I've  been  willing  you 
for  five  minutes.  Oh,  tell  me,  seen  anything  of  Tony 
since  the  glad  news?" 

Thoresby  laughed.  There  was  a  certain  dryness  in 
his  tone.  "No,"  he  said.  "And,  by  Jove,  I  haven't 
settled  up  with  him.  I  must." 

"Honestly,  I  don't  think  I  should.  I  had  a  letter 
from  mother  the  other  day.  She  said  that  Tony  was 
a  changed  man.  He's  been  helping  at  the  Oxford 
House  Mission." 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Thoresby  incredulously. 

"Oh,  but,  my  dear  old  boy,  Tony's  very  versatile. 
Mother  says  that  he  sings  country  songs  to  little  boys 
in  the  evenings,  and,  as  they  don't  understand  a  single 
word,  none  of  the  parsons  have  thought  it  necessary 
to  stop  him.  They're  very  ripe,  you  know." 

"Well,  but  of  course  I  must  pay  him.  With  the 
thousand  pounds  that  I  owe  and  a  bit  over  for  luck 
he  could  emigrate  to  Canada  and  make  a  fresh  start." 

"Is  the  flat  racing  season  over  yet?"  asked  Dick. 

"On  its  last  legs." 

"Well,  then,  if  you  must  play  the  game,  dole  it  out 
in  bits.  Otherwise,  Tony  would  plank  the  lot  on  the 
best  thing  in  racing  and  go  down." 

145 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

And  so  they  went  on,  these  two,  talking  like 
brothers  of  the  road.  It  was  very  peculiar.  And  after 
breakfast  they  returned  to  the  window  seat,  still  talk- 
ing, and  smoked  cigarettes — the  man  in  his  dressing- 
gown,  the  girl  in  her  prim,  ready-made  clothes,  the 
unscrupulous  man  and  the  girl  with  the  face  of  a  wild 
flower. 

There  they  sat  until  the  street  below  was  alive  with 
people  and  traffic  and  the  sun  was  high  in  the  sky. 
Dick  told  the  story  of  her  imprisonment  at  Syden- 
ham.  The  description  of  her  life  there  made  Thoresby 
alternately  laugh  and  hold  his  breath. 

"Shall  you  go  back?"  he  asked. 

Dick  looked  at  him  as  though  he  were  a  harmless 
lunatic. 

"Question  passed,"  she  said,  "for  lack  of  words." 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  Tony's  in  White- 
chapel,  your  mother's  in  Bloomsbury  and  Harry's — 
well,  Harry's  on  her  own."  He  didn't  know  quite 
how  to  put  it.  "Where  can  you  go?" 

"Don't  worry  about  me,"  said  Dick.  "I'm  staying 
here." 

Thoresby  was  on  his  feet.  "Staying  here!  What 
do  you  mean?" 

"You're  the  only  friend  I've  got  in  the  world,  old 
boy.  So  you  put  me  up.  How  about  it?" 

Thoresby  walked  about  the  room,  touching  things 
aimlessly  with  a  hand  that  was  shaking.  Then  he 
went  back  and  stood  in  front  of  her.  "Do  you  know 
what  you're  saying?" 

Dick  took  another  cigarette.  It  was  her  twelfth. 
146 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"If,  of  course,  you  haven't  got  a  spare  room  in  this 
place,  say  so.  Then  it's  back  to  the  army  ag'in,  ser- 
geant. Back  to  the  army  ag'in." 

"Ah!"  said  Thoresby.  At  the  moment  he  was  not 
sure  whether  he  was  glad  or  sorry.  This  girl  was 
different. 

Before  he  could  talk  about  convention  and  utter 
stammering  platitudes  about  what  is  done  and  what 
is  not  done  they  heard  what  appeared  to  be  a  fracas 
on  the  stairs,  a  conglomeration  of  loud  voices,  and 
then  the  door  was  flung  open. 

"Hullo,  Tony,"  said  Dick. 


147 


CHAPTER   XIV 

TONY  was  perfectly  sober.  His  wife's  descrip- 
tion was  not  wholly  inaccurate.  He  looked 
rather  like  a  rough,  big  towel  that  has  been 
passed  through  a  mangle.  He  was  dressed  in  a  ready- 
made  suit  of  gray  serge.  The  trousers  were  a  little 
tight.  He  wore  a  white  collar  and  a  black  bow  tie 
and  a  bowler  which  sat  rather  low  over  his  ears.  He 
had  shaved  that  morning  and  combed  his  great  mus- 
tache. He  was  much  thinner  and  looked  curiously 
older.  He  alone  among  men  knew  of  the  tortures 
that  he  had  undergone  for  the  want  of  drink.  Just 
for  one  moment  there  was  a  flicker  of  the  old  gen- 
erous, good-hearted,  clean-minded  Tony.  He  looked 
from  Thoresby  to  his  daughter  and  stood  very  still 
and  straight.  "You— too,"  he  said.  "Oh,  my  God !" 

Thoresby  hitched  his  shoulders  uncomfortably. 
Once  before  he  had  felt  the  sting  of  a  whip  across 
his  face. 

Dick  did  not  find  it  necessary  to  get  up  and  kiss 
her  father.  She  looked  him  all  over.  "My  hat!"  she 
said,  "this  is  a  day  of  surprises.  We're  all  little 
gentlemen  now,  aren't  we?  Going  into  the  church, 
Tony?" 

Tony  was  looking  at  Thoresby.  There  was  a  nasty 
148 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

glitter  in  his  eye.  "You  got  a  drawing-room  here?" 
he  asked.  "Seems  to  be  rather  an  unnecessary  ques- 
tion. Swagger  places  like  these  not  only  have  draw- 
ing-rooms, but  billiard-rooms,  morning-rooms  and  li- 
braries. Just  ask  my  daughter  to  take  herself  off  to 
one  of  these,  will  you?  I've  got  a  word  or  two  to 
say  to  you." 

Thoresby  opened  the  door.  "Would  you  mind, 
Dick?" 

"Anything  you  like,"  she  said,  "I'm  in  a  mighty 
good  temper." 

She  got  up,  taking  a  handful  of  cigarettes  with  her. 
She  stopped  in  front  of  Tony  and  gave  a  soft  laugh. 
"It'll  do  me  a  bit  of  good  to  be  seen  in  public  with 
you." 

The  veins  in  the  man's  neck  thickened  and  stood 
out.  He  waved  his  arm  to  the  door  and  Dick  dis- 
appeared at  a  run.  When  her  father  looked  like  that 
he  usually  threw  things,  and  his  aim  was  good. 

An  odd  thing  happened  when  Tony  found  himself 
alone.  He  dodged  about  the  room  with  a  sudden 
gleefulness,  like  a  man  who  has  mined  with  no  luck 
for  years  and  suddenly  discovers  gold.  He  examined 
the  little  clock  and  the  blue  plates,  the  admirable  en- 
gravings and  etchings,  the  thick  carpet  and  the  assort- 
ment of  extremely  comfortable  chairs.  Hearing  steps 
and  the  sound  of  a  man  clearing  his  throat,  he  threw 
himself  into  an  attitude  of  righteous  indignation.  He 
was  like  an  actor  standing  on  the  stage  who  sees  the 
stage  manager  put  his  finger  on  the  bell  to  give  the 
signal  for  the  curtain  to  be  raised. 

149 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Thoresby  entered  quietly  and  shut  the  door.  He 
did  not  know  this  Tony  very  well,  but  his  first  re- 
mark had  prepared  him  somewhat.  "Welcome,  old 
friend,"  he  said  tactfully.  "It's  good  to  see  you  here." 

The  stage  had  lost  a  splendid  actor  in  Tony  Oke- 
hampton.  The  tremolo  in  his  voice  was  most  moving. 
"Not  content  with  taking  advantage  of  my  second 
daughter,  Harry,  and  very  nearly  breaking  my  heart, 
you  now  entice  Dick — Dick,  the  apple  of  my  eye — into 
your  foul  clutches.  Never  again,  no  never  shall  I  have 
any  faith  in  the  word  friendship."  He  sat  down  heav- 
ily, put  his  hands  over  his  face  and  burst  into  well- 
simulated  tears. 

Thoresby  was  greatly  upset.  This  was  a  very  un- 
comfortable beginning  to  his  new  career,  a  rather  un- 
pleasant housewarming.  "Oh,  my  dear  Tony,"  he 
said,  "please  don't  do  that.  I  give  you  my  word  that 
your  suspicions  are  absolutely  unfounded.  I've  done 
my  best  for  Harry  out  of  friendship  for  you,  and  this 
is  the  first  time  that  Dick  has  ever  been  in  this  place." 

"You  damned  liar!"  cried  Tony.  "I  know  what  I'm 
talking  about.  Harry's  your  mistress.  You  seduced 
her." 

"I  give  you  my — > — " 

"You  may  swear  till  you're  black  in  the  face.  Un- 
fortunately, what  I  say  is  true."  He  had  almost  made 
a  bad  slip  and  said  fortunately.  Up  to  the  present 
moment  he  had  known  himself  to  be  in  possession 
of  a  good  hand.  The  sight  of  Dick  made  it  a  royal 
flush.  Thoresby  drew  up  a  chair  at  the  table  and  sat 
down. 

150 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Let  us  go  into  this,  Tony,"  he  said,  "as  man  to 
man.  How  much  do  you  know?" 

This  business-like  attitude  rather  damped  Tony's  elo- 
quence. "Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  be  treated  as  a 
sort  of  customer?"  he  cried,  intending  to  enjoy  to  the 
full  what  was  to  him  a  great  moment.  "I  know  you. 
So  does  everybody  else.  Your  reputation  lies  behind 
you  like  a  main  road  on  the  map.  You  think  you're 
going  to  bargain  with  me,  the  father  of  this  poor, 
wretched  girl.  You  think  you  can  buy  my  silence 
with  some  of  the  money  you  seem  to  have  come  into. 
If  that's  your  idea,  my  Lord  Thoresby,  you're  mis- 
taken and  so  I  tell  you." 

"Buy  your  silence!  Get  off  your  stilts,  man,  and 
talk  sense.  We  are  in  London  now,  not  Quennor. 
How  did  you  know?" 

This  was  a  very  awkward  question.  "Ah!  Then 
you  own  to  it,  do  you,  you  dirty  dog?  You  own  to 
having  come  under  my  roof,  enjoyed  my  hospitality, 
been  received  with  open  arms,  only  to  take  advantage 
of  a  girl  not  much  more  than  a  baby.  My  God!  It 
would  make  a  nice  story  in  the  police  courts.  You'd 
look  a  little  less  smug  if  you  had  a  notification  from 
the  public  prosecutor." 

Thoresby  was  making  a  pattern  in  the  salt.  "I 
didn't  ask  you  to  make  a  speech,  old  man,"  he  said. 
"All  I  want  to  know  is  how  did  you  find  out?  And 
there's  one  other  rather  interesting  question  I  should 
like  to  ask  you.  Why  didn't  you  look  me  up  to  black- 
mail me  before?" 

Tony  made  a  gesture  which  would  have  done  credit 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

to  Guitry.  It  indicated  unspeakable  pain.  "I  shan't 
be  able  to  contain  myself  much  longer,"  he  said.  "You 
make  me  see  red — oh,  Bill,  what  made  you  choose  my 
home  and  my  family?  What  have  I  done  to  you  but 
good?  What  sort  of  future  will  this  poor  child  have 
now?  Oh,  I  know  that  she's  not  had  a  very  good 
chance.  I'm  a  weak  and  foolish  man  and  things  have 
gone  badly  with  me.  But  as  far  as  my  children  are 
concerned,  I've  played  the  game.  I've  guarded  them 
from  danger.  God  knows,  I  shall  creep  down  to  old 
age  with  bitter  thoughts,  but  the  remembrance  of  your 
having  turned  on  me  like  a  serpent  will  blacken  them 
all." 

"Yes,"  said  Billy,  "but  how  did  you  find  out?  I 
agree  that  you  have  a  case.  It's  waste  of  time  to 
dodge  behind  lies.  I'll  give  you  what  I  can  either  in 
a  lump  sum  or  bit  by  bit  at  stated  times.  I'm  a  re- 
spectable pereon  now  and  I  don't  want  any  scandals. 
But  just  for  the  sake  of  old  time's  sake  take  my  most 
comfortable  chair  and  tell  me  without  heroics  how 
you  found  out.  It  is  a  matter  of  immense  interest  to 
me.  For  instance,  I  rather  want  to  know — we're 
speaking  as  old  friends,  aren't  we? — whether  your 
master  hand  arranged  this  thing?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Tony's  voice  was  genuinely 
hoarse. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  put  it  plainer  than  that? 
I  can.  Is  this,  in  other  words,  a  put-up  job?" 

With  a  sort  of  roar,  Tony  caught  hold  of  a  silver 
cigarette  box  and  held  it  above  his  head. 

The  imperturbable  man  on  the  other  side  of  the 

152 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

table  smiled  blandly.  "Dear  old  Tony,"  he  said,  "I 
reminded  you  before  that  this  is  not  Quennor.  I  am 
not  your  wife." 

The  silver  cigarette  box  found  itself  back  again  in 
its  old  place.  Tony  sat  down.  "I  see  that  you  must 
be  dealt  with,"  he  said,  "in  the  only  way  that  you 
can  understand.  You  have  no  sympathy  with  a 
father's  feelings,  nothing  of  the  spirit  of  a  man  of 
honor  left  in  you.  Very  well,  let's  come  to  business." 

"Ah !  now  that's  very  sensible  of  you,  old  boy.  I've 
always  found  it's  better  in  the  long  run  to  settle  these 
little  matters  amicably.  Look  here,  I  regret  to  say — 
I  choose  the  word  regret  with  a  full  appreciation  of 
what  it  means — that  I  lost  my  head  in  your  house. 
Since  that  time  I  have  done  what  I  could  for  Harry. 
Forgive  me  if  I  seem  to  be  blowing  a  trumpet  or  any- 
thing of  that  sort,  but  I  put  her  to  a  good  dancing 
woman  and  made  myself  responsible  for  various  bills 
of  hers,  frocks  and  hats,  and  scent  and  so  forth.  She 
won't  have  to  grumble  in  the  future,  either.  I  can't 
very  well  do  more  than  that  so  far  as  she's  concerned. 
As  for  Dick — well,  I  don't  ask  you  to  believe  me,  but, 
fortunately,  I  can  bring  witnesses  to  prove  that  she 
ran  away  from  Sydenham  in  the  early  hours  of  the 
morning  and  arrived  here  at  seven  o'clock.  So  we'll 
just  wipe  Dick  off.  She  is  not  one  of  your  assets. 
Dick  is  different." 

"Make  Harry  your  wife,"  said  Tony. 

Thoresby  laid  down  the  salt  spoon.  "Oh,  please, 
no,"  he  said.  "Besides,  from  your  point  of  view, 
wouldn't  that  be  a  little  stupid?  A  man  can't  very 

153 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

well  blackmail  his  son-in-law.  No,  think  it  over  and 
fix  your  price.  It's  very  horrid,  my  dear  Tony,  to  be 
obliged  to  talk  to  you  in  this  way." 

Tony  had  begun  to  take  on  some  of  the  color  of 
his  surroundings.  The  room  was  furnished  in  the 
most  charming  taste.  Every  detail  of  it  was  delight- 
ful. "It's  appalling!"  he  said,  "absolutely  appalling! 
Conceive  it.  You,  a  man  of  family,  and  me,  an  Oke- 
hampton.  By  Jove — however,  I  think  a  thousand  a 
year  will  meet  the  case,  paid  quarterly." 

"Isn't  that  rather  stiff?  A  thousand  a  year's  a  lot 
of  money.  And  may  I  just  hint  that  Harry — no,  we 
won't  go  into  that.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think.  I'll 
write  you  a  check  for  the  money  I  owe  you  in  full — 
you  don't  hold  my  I.  O.  U.,  remember." 

"Oh,  dash  it !    Go  straight." 

"Oh,  yes,  yes.  I  intend  to.  I  can  now.  It's  rather 
nice.  Mighty  easy  when  you  can,  too.  I  don't  take 
any  credit  for  it.  Well,  then,  I'll  pay  you  that  money 
and  send  you  to  Canada." 

There  was  a  derisive  laugh.  "Canada  ?  Me !  That's 
the  best  thing  I  ever  heard.  Now,  look  here,  Billy, 
be  straight,  or  as  God's  my  judge  I'll  have  the  law 
on  you.  You  know  Harry's  age  all  right." 

"Well,  it's  up  to  you  to  make  another  suggestion." 

A  gleam  of  enthusiasm  came  into  Tony's  eyes.  He 
pushed  the  breakfast  things  away  and  leaned  on  the 
table.  "Old  man,"  he  said,  "I've  got  a  scheme.  Put 
me  into  a  flat.  Trick  it  out  nicely  for  me.  Make  it 
a  place  to  which  my  girls  can  bring  their  friends. 
Harry's  got  'em  and  Dick  jolly  soon  will.  Once  there, 

154 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

I  can  keep  an  eye  on  'em  and  see  that  they  make  mar- 
riages worthy  of  Okehamptons,  and  incidentally  put  in 
a  few  rubbers  of  bridge." 

"Oh,  I  see!"  said  Thoresby.  "A  gambling  hell, 
with  the  two  girls  as  decoys." 

"What  a  pity,"  said  Tony,  "that  you've  got  such  a 
horrid  mind.  At  any  rate,  that's  my  idea.  It'll  suit 
me.  I'm  not  as  young  as  I  was  and  the  pursuits  of 
country  life  have  got  a  bit  stale.  I  feel  like  London 
and  a  club  and  decent  clothes  to  my  back,  a  theater 
now  and  then  and  civilized  society.  You  can  do  it 
for  me  and  at  the  same  time  have  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  I  shall  be  able  to  rescue  Harry." 

"One  second,"  said  Thoresby,  "now,  as  to  the  word 
rescue.  Does  it  mean  taking  Harry  off  my  hands?" 

Tony  considered  the  point.  He  did  not  intend  to 
give  anything  away.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "it  does  if  you 
pay  rent,  the  furniture  bill,  and  make  me  a  yearly  al- 
lowance of — well,  we're  old  and  dear  friends — I'll 
let  you  down  as  lightly  as  I  can — a  tenner  a  week. 
There  now !  There  you  have  Tony  at  his  worst,  fool- 
ish old  Tony  Okehampton,  generous  to  a  fault." 

Thoresby  turned  away  his  head  to  smile.  He  had 
a  good  deal  of  delicacy.  "Done  with  you,"  he  said, 
"it's  a  bet." 

A  rush  of  blood  suffused  Tony's  face.  He  shot  his 
flannel  cuffs  and  held  his  head  higher  and  gave  a  curl 
to  his  mustache.  By  Jove,  he  was  going  to  be  a  gen- 
tleman again.  Ah,  well,  it  was  good  to  think  that  all 
his  love  and  tender  care  of  his  children  would  reap 
its  reward.  He  took  up  a  cigarette  and  put  it  back 

155 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

again.  "I  should  think,"  he  said,  "that  you're  a  pretty 
good  judge  of  a  cigar.  What?  So  am  I." 

Thoresby  pointed  to  a  large  silver  box,  upon  which 
his  crest  was  engraved.  "There  you  are,"  he  said. 

With  a  springy  step  and  a  sort  of  spontaneous  flam- 
boyance the  proud  father  made  for  the  silver  box. 
"Coronas!  Quite  all  right."  He  spiked  one,  lit  it 
and  sent  two  streams  of  smoke  through  his  nostrils. 
His  enjoyment  was  almost  childish.  "We  smoke  Vir- 
ginia cigarettes  at  our  Oxford  House  Mission,"  he 
said.  "Civilization  has  its  points.  When  may  I  ex- 
pect a  check  to  settle  our  small  affair?" 

"To-day." 

Tony  almost  dropped  his  cigar.  What  a  fool  he 
had  been  not  to  stick  to  a  thousand  a  year!  This 
man  had  money. 

"But  I  make  one  absolute  condition." 

"Condition?"  sneered  Tony. 

"Yes,  condition.  When  you  leave  this  place  you 
must  take  Dick  with  you." 

"That  goes  without  saying.  Of  course,  I  shall  take 
Dick." 

"Do  you  agree?" 

"Yes.    What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  I  can't  stand  Dick  in  this  place  for 
another  hour.  Is  that  clear?" 

"Quite  clear,  Billy,  old  man—" 

"Then,  get  out." 

Tony  turned  in  surprise.  Thoresby  might  have  been 
talking  to  a  dog. 

"Get  out.    Go  on,  get  out!" 

156 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Thoresby  opened  the  door  and  stood  there  with  his 
lips  pressed  together. 

For  a  moment  Tony  wavered.  The  place  was  very 
comfortable.  It  was  around  about  luncheon  hour. 
Then  he  helped  himself  to  three  more  cigars  and  saun- 
tered airily  out  of  the  room.  "So-long,  dear  old 
friend,"  he  said.  "God  bless  you." 


157 


PART    III 
CHAPTER   I 

SIR  EDWARD  MORDE  left  his  car  at  the  top 
of  the  alley.  It  was  raining  hard.  A  keen 
November  wind  swept  around  the  London 
Theater.  The  Member  of  Parliament  for  one  of  the 
suburbs  dodged  with  surprising  alacrity  under  the  cov- 
ered way  which  leads  to  the  pit  entrance  and  then 
turned  up  the  astrakan  collar  of  his  coat  and,  holding 
the  brim  o£  his  hat,  made  another  dodge  around  to 
the  back  of  the  building  and  so  to  the  stage  door.  A 
very  stout  man  whose  rubicund  face  was  clean-shaven 
nodded.  "Bad  night,  sir,"  he  said. 

"Exceptionally  unpleasant,"  said  Morde.  "How 
long  will  Miss  Okehampton  be?" 

The  door-keeper  glanced  at  the  clock  which  com- 
peted with  a  small  gas  stove  for  the  post  of  impor- 
tance in  the  cubby  hole.  "Due  now,  sir,"  he  said. 
"As  you  know,  understudies  'as  to  wait  in  the  theater 
until  'arf  an  hour  after  rise  of  curtain." 

"I  wish  you'd  just  go  down  and  tell  Miss  Okehamp- 
ton that  I'm  waiting,  will  you?  Otherwise,  she  may 
enter  into  jocular  conversation  with  other  members 
of  the  company."  Half  a  crown  glistened  on  the 
little  window  sill  with  the  glass  screen. 

158 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Oh,  yes,  p'r'aps  it  would  be  a  good  idea,  sir.  It's 
a  miserable  night  for  waiting  about." 

As  soon  as  the  fat  man  had  waddled  away  and 
disappeared  through  swing  doors,  the  elderly  politician 
went,  in  a  gingerly  fashion,  into  the  cubby  hole.  He 
took  off  his  opera  hat  and  examined  his  face  earnestly 
in  a  small  square  looking-glass.  His  hair  and  mus- 
tache had  been  newly  dyed  that  afternoon  and  his 
face  very  carefully  massaged.  It  was  a  face  of  great 
refinement,  with  a  thin,  well-cut  nose,  a  high  forehead 
and  well-marked  eyebrows  in  which  there  was  a  touch 
of  red.  The  chin  was  good,  too.  The  mouth  was 
hidden  by  what  used  to  be  known  as  a  cavalry  mus- 
tache. Like  the  motorist  who  habitually  scorches  and 
dabs  oil  on  his  number  to  prevent  identification,  Sir 
Edward  Morde  hid  his  mouth. 

He  was  not  altogether  pleased  with  his  appearance. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  looked  at  least  six  weeks 
older  than  he  was.  This  he  could  not  afford.  He 
was  fifty-six  and  he  resented  it. 

Life  had  one  great  charm — Dick.  He  would  give 
his  seat  in  Parliament,  which,  even  in  these  days,  still 
possesses  a  certain  social  value,  his  club,  which  was 
incontestably  the  first,  and  half  his  income,  which 
was  not  too  large  for  his  purpose,  if  only  he  could 
persuade  Dick  that  he  was  worth  loving,  or,  at  any 
rate,  pretending  to  love. 

He  left  the  box  before  its  keeper  returned. 

"Miss  Okehampton's  on  her  way,  sir.  Terrible 
affair  that  in  Paris." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.     I  don't  know  why  it  is,  but  it 

159 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

seems  to  be  the  habit  of  journalists  to  apply  the  word 
terrible  to  everything  that  happens  in  Paris.  In  Eng- 
land such  things  are  merely  called  sordid." 

"Yes,  but  seven  in  family  and  all  with  their  throats 
slit  like  a  lot  of  guinea  pigs.  Oh,  my !  Very  French 
I  call  it" 

"Ah,  at  last!" 

"At  last?  I'm  only  five  minutes  late!  Oh,  damn, 
it's  raining.  Oh,  look  here,  let  me  out  of  this." 

"No,  no,  please.  It's  really  a  liberal  education  to 
see  Mascagni  conduct." 

"I  don't  think  you'd  better  talk  about  liberal  educa- 
tion after  the  scene  in  the  House  last  night.  You  seem 
to  have  woken  up  pretty  considerably,  Mordy!  All 
right,  anything  for  a  peaceful  life." 

Dick  turned  up  the  collar  of  a  sealskin  coat.  Her 
curious  little  sealskin  cap  hid  her  golden  hair.  Her 
face  was  covered  with  a  dead  white  liquid  of  some 
sort  and  her  lips  were  very  red.  Over  her  fair  eye- 
brows she  had  drawn  a  line  with  a  black  pencil,  and 
there  was  sticky  black  stuff  on  all  her  eyelashes. 

"I'm  sorry  it's  so  wet.  The  car  is  at  the  top  of 
the  court." 

"Oh,  that's  thoughtful.  If  we're  going,  let's  go. 
So-long,  Charlie,"  she  said  to  the  doorkeeper,  "be 
good,  old  dear." 

The  fat  man  opened  the  door.  He  watched  her 
nip,  as  he  called  it,  around  the  corner,  followed  by 
the  elderly  man  who  picked  his  way. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said,  "glad  no  daughter  of  mine 
ever  thought  of  going  or.  the  staige." 

160 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Dick  made  a  long  arm  and  put  her  hand  into  a 
pocket  in  the  car.  "You  really  are  a  thoughtful  old 
thing,"  she  said.  She  bent  forward  and  powdered 
her  nose,  using  the  little  looking-glass  under  the  elec- 
tric light. 

"Not  so  hideously  old  as  all  that,"  said  Morde.  He 
took  the  powder  puff  from  her  and  pressed  it  to  his 
lips.  It  was  a  gallant  but  somewhat  ludicrous  action. 
The  powder  looked  like  snow  upon  a  crow's  back. 

Dick  threw  up  her  heels  and  gave  one  big  guffaw. 
"Oh,  Sir  Galahad!"  she  said.  "Would  that  thou 
could  see  thyself  as  others  see  thee!" 

"You're  always  so  peculiarly  satirical,  my  dear 
Dick." 

"Oh,  he's  hurt.  His  feelings  are  wounded,  then. 
Didums!" 

The  man  twisted  around  and  threw  his  arm  around 
Dick's  shoulders.  "Oh,  Dick!  Dick!"  he  said,  "you 
madden  me.  One  kiss.  Just  one !" 

With  an  eel-like  action  Dick  slipped  away  and 
squeezed  herself  into  the  very  corner  of  the  seat. 
"Visitors  are  requested  not  to  touch  the  exhibits!"  she 
said. 

"Oh,  my  dear " 

Dick  smiled  blandly,  but  the  hand  she  held  up  was 
implacable.  "My  dear  old  Mordy,  I  like  you.  You're 
really  amazingly  kind  and  thoughtful  and  nice  to  look 
at,  but  the  answer  to  the  acrostic  is,  hands  off.  Why 
can't  you  leave  me  alone,  damn  it?  I'm  not  that  sort. 
I  suppose  it's  a  pity,  but  there  it  is." 

Sir  Edward  Morde  looked  like  a  naughty  school-boy. 
161 


THE   OUTPOST    OF   ETERNITY 

It  was  really  almost  pathetic.  His  voice  became  very 
soothing  and  gentle.  "There,  there,  dear,"  he  said, 
"I'll  be  very  good.  You  shall  have  no  further  fault 
to  find  with  me.  Tell  me,  how  are  you  getting  on  at 
the  London?" 

"Oh,  I  dunno,"  said  Dick,  "all  right,  I  s'pose.  As 
you're  a  friend  of  the  actor-manager,  they're  devilish 
polite  to  me.  I'm  understudying  Miss  Woodgate,  you 
know.  Two  pound  ten  a  week,  of  the  best.  Oh,  and 
by  the  way,  I  believe  I've  forgotten  to  thank  you  for 
working  it  for  me." 

"Well,  yes,  you  have." 

"Oh,  I'm  a  complete  Okehampton,"  said  Dick. 
"However,  I  am  particularly  grateful.  Believe  me, 
your  kindness  is  wholly  appreciated."  Her  imitation 
of  Morde's  pedantic  enunciation  was  exact. 

The  car  drew  up. 

"They're  a  long  time  opening  the  door,"  said  Dick. 

"Permit  me."  Morde  leaned  forward  and  opened 
it  and  got  out  and  stood  in  the  rain  in  a  knightly 
attitude. 

Dick  took  his  hand  and  gave  a  jump.  "Hullo,"  she 
said,  "what's  this?  I  thought  we  were  bound  for  the 
Coliscream?  This  is  your  house." 

Sir  Edward  Morde  smiled  excitedly.  "That  fool 
of  a  chauffeur,"  he  said,  "always  making  mistakes !" 

"You're  a  harpist,"  said  Dick.  "This  is  you,  par- 
ticularly you.  Something  in  the  nature  of  blighters, 
some  of  you  gentlemen.  However,  I  don't  want  my 
sealskin  spotted.  Perhaps  you'll  open  the  door." 

Morde  had  expected  a  scene.  He  was  delighted. 
162 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

He  thrust  his  latch-key  into  the  lock  and  threw  back 
the  door.  "Enter,  your  Majesty,"  he  said. 

"H'm!"  said  Dick.    "Very  tricky,  I  don't  think." 

The  chauffeur  received  an  order  to  wait  up  in  the 
garage  until  telephoned  for,  and  Morde  followed  Dick 
up  the  stairs  of  his  Mount  Street  flat  to  a  character- 
istic sitting-room.  It  was  large,  airy,  and  its  walls 
were  covered  with  Flemish  tapestry.  The  floor  was 
polished  and  all  the  chairs  upon  it  belonged  to  the 
same  period.  No  glaring  electric  light  hit  the  eye. 
The  room  was  soothingly  lighted  by  yellow  globed 
electric  lights  hidden  behind  a  ledge  which  ran  high 
up  around  the  walls.  A  cheerful  fire  was  burning  and 
throwing  a  glow  upon  the  glistening  parquet.  There 
were  cigarettes  in  plenty  on  a  small  table  between 
two  chairs.  There  were  also  two  bottles  of  cham- 
pagne. 

"A  dull  evening,"  said  Dick,  throwing  off  her  coat, 
"spiced  with  reminiscences  of  a  bygone  age." 

The  elderly  gentleman  caught  the  coat  as  it  was 
about  to  fall.  He  held  it  in  his  arms  tightly.  "Oh, 
don't  be  cross,"  he  said,  "let  me  have  one  evening. 
I've  been  living  for  it." 

Dick  stood  in  front  of  the  fire  and  held  her  long, 
thin  fingers  to  the  blaze.  "Well,  all  I  ask  you  is  this," 
she  said,  "don't  dodder.  For  God's  sake,  don't  dod- 
der." 

"Dodder! — Oh,  what  a  hideous  word!"  He  placed 
the  coat  tenderly  over  the  back  of  a  chair  and  then 
went  over  to  Dick  respectfully  and  held  out  a  box  of 
cigarettes. 

163 


"What? — Oh,  well,  I  will.  You've  got  my  own 
brand,  I  see." 

"Is  there  any  conceivable  thing  between  heaven 
and  earth  that  I  would  not  get  for  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Dick  with  a  short  laugh,  "away."  She 
sat  down  with  a  profound  sigh.  "It's  rather  bad  luck. 
However,  I'm  a  bit  of  a  philosopher,  and  we're  out 
of  the  rain  and  I  know  Tagliacci'  backward,  and, 
so,  there  it  is.  You've  got  to  do  one  thing  for  me, 
though." 

"Only  one?"     The  man  was  fatuous.     "Name  it." 

"Doddy's  for  supper,  old  boy." 

"Not  really?" 

"Really  and  truly.  Otherwise  Miss  Okehampton 
summons  the  prancing  chargers  and  cavorts  away. 
One  would  have  to  be  Dickens  mad  to  spend  a  whole 
evening  with  old  father  Christmas — amuse  me." 

She  lay  back  in  her  chair  and  stretched  out  her  feet 
to  the  fire.  Her  stockings  were  silk. 

Sir  Edward  Morde  opened  a  bottle  of  champagne 
and  filled  two  glasses.  "I  remember  years  ago — that 
is,  some  years  ago — when  I  was  president  of  the  Foil 
Club  at  Oxford,  I " 


164 


CHAPTER    II 

TONY  OKEHAMPTON  had  never  been  so 
happy  since  he  went  down  the  Cornmarket 
on  his  first  night  at  Oxford,  bought  the  largest 
tobacco  jar  he  could  find,  which  bore  upon  it  the 
arms  of  his  college,  and  placed  it  conspicuously  in 
his  sitting-room. 

He  had  received  the  check  from  Thoresby,  had 
cashed  it  and  had  secreted  a  thousand  pounds'  worth 
of  banknotes  about  his  bedroom  at  the  Oxford  House 
Mission.  With  that  contradictory  touch  of  extreme 
meanness  which  is  often  to  be  found  in  the  nature 
of  generous  men,  Tony  intended  to  avail  himself  of 
his  nephew's  hospitality  until  he  had  chosen,  furnished 
and  moved  into  the  new  flat.  Whitechapel  certainly 
\vas  off  the  map,  but,  thank  Heaven,  he  could  now 
afford  as  many  taxicabs  as  he  liked. 

During  the  next  few  weeks  his  overworked  nephew, 
who,  like  many  another  enthusiast,  was  busily  engaged 
in  trying  to  empty  the  sea  with  a  fish  slice,  saw  very 
little  of  Master  Tony.  He  didn't  appear  at  the  early 
breakfast  table.  He  let  himself  in  long  after  the  opti- 
mistic brotherhood  had  retired  for  the  night.  All  his 
days  were  spent  in  collecting  orders  to  view  from  auc- 
tioneers and  estate  agents,  and  in  viewing  various 
flats  with  almost  finnicky  eyes.  Tony  saw  no  reason 

165 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

why  he  shouldn't  face  west  or  why  he  shouldn't  be 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  park.  In  all  probability 
he  would  join  the  livery  brigade  in  the  row  before 
breakfast.  He  would  show  some  of  these  cockney 
riders  how  to  sit  a  gee,  bless  them. 

He  elevated  flat-hunting  into  an  orgy.  Beautifully 
dressed  and  looking  like  the  lady  novelist's  idea  of  a 
duke,  he  took  West  End  estate  agents  into  his  con- 
fidence, and  after  a  strenuous  morning's  work  he 
turned  into  the  Carlton  or  the  Savoy  and  did  himself 
very  well.  It  never  occurred  to  him  to  invite  either 
of  his  daughters  to  join  him  on  these  occasions,  and 
he  was  particularly  careful  to  avoid  the  neighborhood 
of  Bloomsbury.  His  one  great  hope  was  that  Brasilia 
might  never  discover  the  very  pleasant  change  in  his 
affairs.  He  felt  certain  that  her  present  environment 
was  all  for  Brasilia's  good.  It  would  be  a  thousand 
pities  to  remove  her  from  it.  Eventually,  after  much 
deliberation,  he  decided  upon  a  flat  at  Knightsbridge. 
Its  windows  overlooked  the  park.  He  considered  it 
to  be  essentially  a  gentleman's  flat.  An  Okehampton 
could  live  there  in  cheerfulness.  And  then  he  indulged 
himself  to  the  full  in  the  enjoyment  of  choosing  fur- 
niture. He  had  a  very  nice  taste  and  an  unerring  eye 
for  those  things  which  were  really  expensive.  The 
result  was  altogether  to  his  satisfaction,  and  when, 
finally,  he  invited  Thoresby  to  inspect  the  place  he  per- 
sonally conducted  him  from  room  to  room  with  the 
modest  smile  of  the  connoisseur. 

"Well,  Bill?    And  the  verdict  is?" 

Thoresby  looked  at  him  dryly.  "I've  met  a  few 
1 66 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

supremely  complete  aristocrats  in  my  time,"  he  said, 
"but  none  of  'em  could  come  within  a  thousand  miles 
of  you" 

Tony  was  delighted.  "Thanks,  so  much,"  he  said. 
He  had  begun  to  adopt  a  certain  amount  of  Eliza- 
bethanism  in  his  choice  of  words.  As  an  artist  it 
seemed  to  him  to  be  necessary  to  live  up  to  his  hat. 

"You  have  not  forgotten,  I  suppose,  to  ask  your 
furniture  dealers  to  send  their  bills  to  me?" 

"No,  dear  boy,"  said  Tony.  "Everything's  in 
order." 

"That's  good.  We  little  thought  when  we  were  at 
Quennor  that  accident  would  run  us  into  such  pleasant 
waters." 

"Ah!"  said  Tony,  "you're  right.  You  know,  my 
dear  Bill,  the  more  I  think  about  it,  and,  mind  you, 
I  think  about  it  a  good  deal,  the  more  I'm  perfectly 
certain  that  Providence  acts  in  no  haphazard  spirit." 

"You  forget  one  thing,"  said  Thoresby.  "We're 
alone,  old  boy.  Don't  forget  that.  When  two  experts 
are  together  they  may  take  a  holiday  from  codding. 
When  do  you  come  in?" 

"I  shall  spend  Sunday  with  my  nephew  and  do 
what  I  can  in  the  evening  to  brighten  up  his  lands, 
and  I  shall  move  in  on  Monday.  It's  a  good  day  to 
make  a  beginning.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"As  good  as  any  other.  How  about  the  girls? 
Have  they  passed  the  place  yet?" 

Tony  showed  surprise.  "Passed  the  place!  The 
girls!  My  dear  feller,  they're  in  the  habit  of  doing 
whatever  I  tell  them  to  do." 

167 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"They  were  when  you  accompanied  your  parental 
commands  with  an  old  boot.  Emancipation  has  set  in, 
my  dear  friend.  Harry  and  Dick  may  find  Knights- 
bridge  rather  too  far  out.  And,  then,  how  about  your 
scheme? — the  decoy  scheme,  I  mean.  You  see,  you 
can't  run  this  place  on  the  tenner  a  week.  You'll  have 
to  do  something,  won't  you,  to  eke  out  your  pittance?" 

Tony  smiled  and  waved  his  hand  in  an  airy  gesture. 
"I  am  giving  my  girls  a  bohemian  luncheon  here  at 
one-thirty  to-day.  I  shall  then  issue  my  orders  and 
see  that  they  make  their  plans  for  joining  me  at  the 
appointed  hour." 

"Dick's  living  with  Harry  in  Shaftesbury  Avenue, 
isn't  she?" 

"Yes,  a  detestable  little  flat,  chronically  untidy,  and 
smacking  horribly  of  grease  paint  and  stale  tobacco. 
Faugh!" 

Thorseby  chuckled.  This  neat-minded  gentleman 
had  once  lived  at  Quennor  and  had  been  seen  with  a 
five  days'  growth  upon  his  face,  with  conglomerate 
stains  all  over  his  clothes.  Wonderful  thing — human 
nature. 

"I  can  give  you  a  decent  glass  of  whisky,"  said 
Tony. 

"No,  thanks.  I  never  drink  between  meals.  An 
old  habit  of  mine.  It  is  necessary  for  men  who  live 
on  their  wits  to  retain  clear  heads.  Well,  then,  good- 
bye, my  dear  friend,  and  good  luck." 

Having  seen  Thoresby  to  the  door,  Tony  straight- 
ened the  well-framed  engravings  in  the  hall,  went  into 
the  dining-room  and  proceeded  to  arrange  a  cold  col" 

1 68 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

lation  upon  the  table.  There  were  German  sausage 
meats,  sardines,  tongues,  a  chicken  in  aspic  and  several 
bottles  of  white  wine.  It  was  already  nearly  half- 
past  one,  and  so  Tony  mixed  himself  a  cocktail.  Glow- 
ing with  satisfaction,  he  then  turned  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, opened  a  small  grand  piano,  sat  down  and 
sang  "I'll  sing  thee  songs  of  Araby"  in  a  very  pleas- 
ant baritone,  accompanying  himself  in  a  rather  under- 
graduate manner.  He  made  a  delightful  picture  of 
domestic  felicity.  His  clothes  were  unobtrusively  ex- 
cellent. His  shoes  were  of  admirable  cut  and  his  hair 
had  been  dealt  with  by  a  master  hand.  He  was  the 
very  spit  of  the  Tony  Okehampton  whom  Billy  Rus- 
son  had  expected  to  find  standing  on  the  steps  of 
Quennor. 


169 


CHAPTER   III 

CURIOSITY  being  just  as  keen  in  Harry  and 
Dick   as  ever   it   was,   they   arrived   at   the 
parental  flat  together.     They  were  only  half 
an  hour  late.    Both  had  engagements  for  tea,  and  so 
they  were  painted.     Why  Tony  issued  an  invitation 
from  a  place  called  Park  Court,  Knightsbridge,  beat 
them.     Tony  and  Park  Court,  Knightsbridge,  didn't 
mix  at  all. 

They  arrived  in  a  borrowed  motor.  Harry  arranged 
for  it  the  night  before.  She  hadn't  the  remotest  idea 
in  the  morning  to  whom  it  belonged.  It  did  very  well 
and  saved  a  cab  fare.  To  see  these  two  babies,  as  cool, 
bland  and  insolently  collected  as  though  they  had  lived 
in  London  and  Paris  for  twenty  years,  was  a  sight 
for  the  gods.  Those  of  them  who  had  managed  to 
retain  some  sympathy  for  human  beings  must  have 
wept. 

"You'll  wait,"  said  Harry  to  the  chauffeur. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  miss,  but — • — " 

"Can't  help  your  troubles,  you'll  wait — oh,  flats. 
Tony  must  have  got  pally  with  some  harmless  lunatic, 
I  suppose." 

"S'pose  so,"  said  Dick.    "What's  the  number?" 

"Six." 

170 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

An  attendant  in  a  chocolate  uniform  with  brass 
buttons  and  a  German  military  hat  came  up  and 
saluted.  "What  number  do  you " 

"Six,"  said  Harry.  She  looked  through  him.  Her 
expression  was  sulky  and  lowering. 

"This  way  for  the  lift,  miss." 

"Walking,"  said  Harry. 

Dick  would  rather  have  gone  by  the  lift,  but  she 
followed.  The  wide  stairs  were  thickly  carpeted  and 
there  were  stereotyped  pictures  here  and  there.  They 
stopped  outside  the  white  door  of  number  six.  Dick 
gave  a  nervous  laugh.  "Are  we  going  to  ask  for 
Tony,  or  what's  the  notion?  His  new  pal's  got  a  bit, 
that's  certain." 

"Yes,"  said  Harry,  "ask  for  Tony." 

"You  led  the  way  up.    You  ask." 

"I  don't  think." 

"Oh,  well,  let's  chance  it."  She  gave  the  bell  three 
irritable  prods. 

The  little  difficulty  was  simplified  by  the  appearance 
of  Tony  himself.  "Hullo,"  he  said. 

"Hullo,  Tony!"  said  Dick. 

"Hullo,  Tony!"  said  Harry. 

Tony  felt  a  thrill  of  pride  at  the  sight  of  his  two 
girls.  They  were  distinctly  guaranteed  to  attract  at- 
tention. "Well,  come  in,"  he  said. 

They  went  in,  more  than  ever  curious.  He  seemed 
to  have  the  run  of  the  place.  It  was  extraordinary. 

Dick's  quick  brain  found  a  solution.  "Oh,  I  see!" 
she  said.  "You've  got  a  job  as  furniture  inspector  for 
Staples." 

171 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Guess  again,"  said  Tony.  "This  is  the  dining- 
room.  At  a  pinch  you  can  sit  a  round  dozen.  Take 
special  notice  of  the  view  and  mark  the  mantelpiece 
— genuine  Tudor." 

The  two  girls  exchanged  looks  and  Harry  tapped 
her  forehead. 

"Here  we  have  the  drawing-room,  which,  mark 
you,  is  a  comfortable  room — generally  it  will  be  im- 
provised into  a  card  room.  Isn't  it  nice?  Ain't  it 
topping?  God,  I  love  it." 

Harry  made  another  sigh.  It  would  be  impossible 
to  describe  it. 

"And  this,"  said  Tony,  warming  to  his  work,  "is 
my  den,  lined,  as  you  will  see,  with  the  immortal 
works  of  the  old  masters — Dickens,  Thackeray,  and 
what's  the  cove's  name — oh,  yes,  George  Eliot,  with- 
out whom  I  am  lost." 

"Absolutely  at  a  loose  end,"  said  Dick.  "Yes,  it's 
all  very  tweaky,  Tony ;  might  easily  pass  for  the  room 
of  a  Colonel  of  Grenadier  Guards,  retired.  But  what's 
the  game?" 

"Yes,"  said  Harry,  "that's  what  I  want  to  know." 

Tony's  face  was  flushed  with  pride. 

"Further  along  the  passage,"  he  said,  "we  have  five 
bedrooms,  bathroom  and  the  usual  offices.  And,  of 
course,  there's  a  kitchen  and  so  forth.  Isn't  it  nice? 
Isn't  it  topping?  God,  I  love  it! — Inspection  over, 
lunch.  I'm  afraid  it's  all  cold.  However,  what  there 
is,  is  good.  Off  with  your  coats.  Hats,  too.  You're 
at  home." 

He  had  saved  this  bonne  bouche  for  the  last.  He 
172 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

threw  it  at  their  feet  like  a  cracker  and  laughed 
heartily. 

He  led  the  way  into  the  dining-room,  walking  al- 
most on  the  tips  of  his  toes. 

"Up  the  pole,"  said  Harry. 

Dick  looked  extremely  puzzled  and  a  little  worried. 
She  was  very  proud  of  her  father.  He  was  a  crack 
shot  and  a  superb  poacher,  and  he  had  his  moments 
when  he  was  really  amusing.  It  went  without  say- 
ing that  he  was  clever.  He  was  an  Okehampton. 
She  gave  Tony  her  sealskin  coat. 

He  weighed  it  and  gave  a  long  whistle.  "Genuine, 
what?  A  present  from  the  front?" 

Dick  shook  her  head.  She  was  admiring  the  glass 
on  the  table.  "Oh,  that  thing!"  she  said  indifferently. 
"Ever  heard  of  an  old  lady  of  the  name  of  Morde?" 

"Sir  Edward  Morde?" 

"He's  made  a  sort  of  hobby  of  me." 

"You  must  ask  him  here,"  said  Tony,  "the  nucleus 
of  a  circle.  Now  then,  chicken?" 

Dick  examined  it  for  a  moment.  "No,  I  hardly 
think  so.  What's  that?  Tongue,  isn't  it?  No,  hold 
it.  I  see  you've  got  some  potted  prawns.  That's  my 
form  this  morning.  I  had  supper  somewhere  about 
five."  Two  months  ago  Dick  would  have  eaten  roast 
mutton  and  plain  potatoes  with  avidity  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Crystal  Palace. 

Harry,  strangely  quiet,  had  seen,  too,  a  bottle  of 
sauterne.  A  curious  look  in  her  eye  seemed  to  denote 
that  she  was  following  up  a  trail  of  thought.  It  made 
her  very  thirsty. 

173 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Tony  examined  her  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes. 
Once  before  he  had  seen  a  similar  expression.  He 
would  carry  a  cut  on  his  left  cheekbone  so  long  as 
he  lived.  Harry  had  flung  an  axe  at  him. 

"Now,  look  here,"  he  said,  "you,  too.  Make  hay 
with  the  lunch  and  ask  me  no  further  questions  till 
I  get  a  cigar  between  my  teeth.  Then  I'll  give  you 
the  news." 

Harry  pushed  her  chair  back  rather  violently.  She 
got  up  and  went  over  to  a  table  on  which  there  was 
a  cigarette  box.  She  took  one  and  lit  it  and  inhaled 
several  mouthfuls.  "Tell  me,"  she  said,  "you."  She 
looked  at  Tony.  "Were  you  somewhere  about  in  the 
passage  the  night  before  Thoresby  left  Quennor?" 

Tony  held  himself  in.  It  was  a  new  experience. 
Not  so  long  ago  his  daughter's  question  would  have 
been  received  with  a  salvo  of  the  sort  of  blasphemy 
which  would  have  made  a  paid  Socialist  tremble  in 
his  shoes.  He  turned  deliberately  to  Dick.  "Have 
some,  old  chap.  It's  pretty  good.  I  chose  it  myself. 
When  I  was  at  Oxford  I  was  a  pretty  good  judge  of 
all  these  things.  It  takes  a  lot  to  kill  it,  I  find.  What 
are  you  drinking?" 

"Oh,  I  dunno,"  said  Dick.     "Brandy  and  soda." 

The  father  shot  out  a  short  laugh.  "Got  civilized 
pretty  soon,  haven't  you?  Er — forgive  me  for  being 
personal,  but  why  plaster  paint  onto  such  a  complex- 
ion as  yours?" 

Dick  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Oh,  I  dunno.  It's 
done,  you  see."  She  looked  at  her  father  humorously. 
"Can  you  keep  this  sort  of  thing  up  long?" 

174 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"What  sort  of  thing?" 

"This  gentlemanlike  act — this  Sir  Peter  Teazle 
business.  Mind  you,  I  don't  dislike  it,  especially  as 
I  see  you've  washed  and  shaved  and  sported  a  clean 
shirt." 

Tony  burst  out  laughing.  At  last  he  had  managed 
to  catch  the  eye  of  the  limelight  man.  He  walked 
around  the  table  to  show  himself  off.  "Eh?"  he  said. 
"Eh  ?  All  right,  what  ?  Savile  Row,  my  dear.  Takes 
a  good  figure  to  show  'em  off,  eh?" 

Dick  smiled.  "Passed,"  she  said.  "H'm,  and  I 
see  you're  a  spat  man,  too.  Very  hot.  Oh,  very  O.  T. 
What  do  you  think  of  our  father,  Harry?" 

Tony  met  Harry's  half  closed  eyes  again  and 
twisted  around.  "Oh,  curse  the  girl,"  he  thought. 
"Curse  her!  She's  a  damn  sight  too  clever!" 

Harry  had,  however,  arrived  almost  at  the  end  of 
her  train  of  thought.  "Tony,"  she  said,  very  quietly, 
"did  you  see  me  go  in  or  come  out?" 

"I  haven't  the  remotest  notion  what  you  mean," 
said  Tony. 

"Okehampton !"  she  said. 

Dick  was  altogether  in  the  dark.  She  screamed 
with  laughter.  How  clever  Harry  was! 

Tony  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  he  filled  up  his 
glass  and  drank  rather  quickly. 

"As  a  drunkard,"  said  Harry,  "you  were  very  suc- 
cessful, but  as  a  blackmailer  you  break  all  records." 

Tony  still  held  himself  under  control.  Even  he  was 
astonished.  He  was,  however,  a  very  happy  man 
whose  life's  work  had  been  adequately  rewarded.  He 

'75 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

was  now  all  in  favor  of  law  and  order.  He  had,  as 
it  were,  a  stake  in  the  country,  and  he  felt  a  sort  of 
superstitious  desire  that  the  reunion  should  pass  off 
without  a  hitch  or  anything  of  an  undignified  nature. 

"What's  the  matter  with  our  Harry?"  he  asked. 
"She  looks  like  one  of  the  witches  of  Endor." 

Dick  became  a  little  irritable.  "Oh,  turn  up  all  this 
mystery  business,  Harry,"  she  said.  "Come  and  sit 
down.  Let  Tony  play  the  little  gentleman  for  once, 
in  peace." 

Trickles  of  smoke  were  dribbling  from  Harry's 
nostrils.  "I'm  glad  I  know,"  she  said.  "That's  all. 
There's  nothing  more  in  it  than  that.  I've  always 
known  you  for  a  dog,  Tony,  and  a  performing  dog  at 
that.  But  I  thought  that  blackmail  was  one  of  the 
tricks  you  didn't  know."  She  got  up  and  marched 
over  to  her  father  and  stood  eye  to  eye.  "I  marked 
you  once  for  less  than  this.  Thank  your  stars,  we're 
not  at  Quennor.  Now  then,  what's  the  game?" 

Tony  looked  as  much  relieved  as  he  was.  He  began 
to  see,  much  to  his  comfort,  that  his  girls  would  be 
very  easy  to  live  with.  "Well,"  he  said,  "the  game 
is  this.  And  it's  a  good  game,  played  slow.  You 
two  scratch  that  common  or  garden  flat  in  Shaftes- 
bury  Avenue  and  come  and  live  with  your  father  in 
a  place  that  will  reflect  no  discredit  on  the  Okehamp- 
tons.  A  charming  bedroom  apiece,  bath,  hot  and  cold, 
well-trained  servants  to  see  to  your  every  want  and 
social  evenings  at  home.  Any  little  earnings  of  your 
own,  of  course,  strictly  in  the  light  of  pocket  money." 

Dick  sprang  up  and  threw  herself  in  the  well-known 
176 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

attitude  of  the  stage  ingenue.     "Oh,  papa!  papa!"  she 
cried,  "how  kind  you  are!" 

"D'yer  like  the  notion,  Dick?" 

"I  don't  think?"  said  Dick.  "What  bo,  she  bumps! 
Shaftesbury  Avenue's  the  limit.  I'm  all  for  England, 
home  and  beauty." 

Tony's  joy  was  touching.  He  held  out  his  hand. 
"Put  it  there,  Dick,  old  man !  Put  it  there !  You're 
a  sportsman.  That's  what  you  are,  a  chip  of  the  old 
block,  old  man.  That's  why  I  called  you  Dick."  He 
wrung  the  long  thin  hand  and  then,  in  his  exuberance, 
bent  forward  and  kissed  the  girl  on  the  cheek. 

"Oh,  hot  stuff,  Tony,  old  boy !"  said  Dick.  "Very 
hot  stuff."  They  were  the  words  she  had  used  to 
Jack. 

Harry  put  down  an  empty  glass.  "May  I  ask,"  she 
said,  "how  soon  it  will  be  before  the  police  raid  us?" 

"My  dear  Harry!" 

"Quite  well  dorie,  Tony,"  she  said,  "virtuous  indig- 
nation in  every  look  and  gesture.  But  I'm  an  older 
bird  than  you  are  in  this  part  of  the  town,  and  in  the 
long  run  houses  are  always  raided  where  decoys  are 
used  to  entice  lunatics  and  old  men  for  gambling  pur- 
poses, etc.,  etc.  However,  it's  all  in  the  day's  march. 
When  do  we  move  in?" 

"On  Monday,"  said  Tony. 

"All  right.  So-long,  then.  Do  your  best  to  keep 
your  liquor  off  your  clothes."  She  went  out  and  they 
heard  her  whistling  down  the  passage. 

"I  must  go,  too,"  said  Dick.  "I'm  going  to  tea  at 
the  Carlton.  Mother's  coming  here,  of  course?" 

177 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Tony  threw  up  his  hands.  "Ah,  my  dear,"  he  said, 
"would  God  that  were  so!  Your  poor  mother!  Oh, 
dear,  oh,  dear,  oh,  dear!  Well,  au  revoir,  my  dear 
child.  I  hope  we  shall  all  be  very  happy  together." 

It  was  with  a  very  straight  face  that  Dick  followed 
her  sister.  When  Tony  heard  the  front  door  shut  he 
walked  across  the  room  to  a  looking-glass  and  put 
his  finger  on  his  cheekbone.  The  old  wound  was  full 
of  pain. 


178 


CHAPTER    IV 

RfiNfi  DE  MAINGAUCHE  was  the  subject  of 
some  dissension  in  the  Okehampton  flat.  He 
had  been  discovered  by  Harry.  He  was  re- 
garded by  Harry  as  her  particular  property.  It  be- 
came apparent  very  quickly,  however,  that  this  artis- 
tic person  came  to  Park  Court  for  Dick.  Harry  was 
extremely  annoyed.  The  two  girls  did  not  settle  the 
matter  as  Thoresby  had  seen  them  settle  another  mat- 
ter from  his  bedroom  window  at  Quennor.  Those 
good  days  were  over.  The  walls  of  Harry's  bedroom 
were,  however,  metaphorically  hung  around  with 
broncho-buster  invective. 

Dick  said  that  she  liked  Rene,  and  if  he  liked  her 
there  was  an  end  of  it.  For  all  she  cared,  Harry  could 
help  herself  to  her  pals.  In  fact,  she'd  be  jolly  glad 
if  she  could  see  her  way  to  remove  finnicky  old  Mordy, 
of  whose  doddering  she  was  heartily  tired. 

This  man,  Rene  de  Maingauche,  was  a  rather  in- 
teresting person.  He  was  the  son  of  a  well-known 
Indian  prince  and  his  mother  was  a  French  actress. 
His  name  was  the  outcome  of  a  witty  piece  of  in- 
vention on  his  mother's  part.  The  son  was  oriental 
in  the  manner  of  the  Boule  Miche.  His  mother  had 
always  regarded  him  as  an  amusement.  He  was  to 

179 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

her  much  as  a  pet  dog  is  to  many  women,  something 
to  tease,  to  pet,  to  feed,  to  exhibit  tricks.  He  was 
extremely  good-looking,  a  really  wonderful  mixture 
of  oriental  and  Parisian.  His  parental  blood  came  out 
in  his  black  hair  and  full  lips  and  the  curious  large 
eyes,  the  whites  of  which  were  almost  yellow.  His 
mother  could  be  traced  in  his  exceedingly  slight  figure 
and  an  incurable  disbelief  in  God  and  man.  From 
both  parents  he  inherited  an  insatiable  desire  to  pos- 
sess at  once  the  last  thing  to  take  his  fancy  and  an 
irritation  bordering  upon  insanity  when  his  desire  was 
not  gratified.  Fortunately,  or  unfortunately — there 
was  no  happiness  and  solid  future  for  such  a  man — 
desires  followed  so  closely  upon  each  other's  heels  that 
there  was  no  time  for  him  to  do  more  than  to  show 
that  insanity  would  really  never  claim  him.  He  had 
always  had  his  own  way.  At  his  own  wish  he  had 
given  up  a  French  school  and  been  sent  to  Harrow. 
At  his  own  wish  he  had  gone  to  Heidelberg  rather 
than  to  an  English  university,  and  he  had  spent  an 
elaborate  year  in  India.  He  spoke  English  and  Ger- 
man as  well  as  he  spoke  French,  and  divided  his  time 
between  Paris  and  London.  Bored  with  London,  hav- 
ing seen  its  plays,  its  music  halls,  its  operas,  he  would 
go  home  to  bed  one  night  in  his  popular  rooms  in 
Bury  Street,  order  a  taxi  and  catch  the  night  boat 
from  Dover.  At  half-past  seven  o'clock  the  next  even- 
ing he  would  meet  someone  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix 
who  would  get  on  his  nerves.  He  would  spend  the 
evening  in  his  mother's  dressing-room  at  her  theater, 
keeping  her  in  screams  of  laughter,  and  return  to 

1 80 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

London  the  following  morning.  Or,  falling  in  love 
with  a  midinette,  he  would  transplant  himself  from 
the  Champs  Elysees  to  Montmartre  and  live  among 
garlic  and  art  talk  for  weeks  at  a  time.  He  was  not 
so  much  a  degenerate  as  a  spoiled  child.  Given  that  he 
had  had  to  earn  his  living,  he  could  have  done  so  ex- 
cellently well.  He  had  many  gifts.  He  could  write. 
He  could  paint,  and  he  could  sing.  He  did  them  all, 
but  turned  them  to  no  account.  There  was  no  need. 
His  immensely  wealthy  male  parent  had  settled  upon 
him  a  thousand  a  year  and  his  mother  frequently  paid 
his  debts.  It  goes  without  saying  that  he  never  lived 
within  his  income.  He  was  an  artist.  He  had  no 
money  sense.  He  could  only  live  in  comfort  in  an 
atmosphere.  His  rooms  in  Bury  Street  were  crowded 
with  caricatures  by  Sem,  original  drawings  by  Beards- 
ley  and  Beerbohm  and  Seine.  He  had  a  penchant 
for  Dulac.  His  favorite  books  were  bound  in  covers 
designed  by  himself.  His  carpets  were  Indian  and 
an  elusive  oriental  smell  pervaded  everything.  In 
Paris  his  apartment  was  much  the  same  and  he  had 
duplicates  of  everything  that  he  needed,  so  that  he 
might  never  be  bothered  with  luggage.  His  income 
was,  of  course,  utterly  inadequate.  It  was  lucky  for 
him  that  mama  was  one  of  the  most  highly  paid 
actresses  of  France  and  that  her  own  income  was  aug- 
mented from  coffers  other  than  those  theatrical. 

Among  his  particular  friends  in  both  countries  he 
was  nicknamed  the  Prince  and  His  Highness.  He 
was  a  very  child  of  a  petulantly  cultivated  extrava- 
gance. He  had  many  good  points.  He  was  generous. 

181 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

It  was  easy.  He  had  been  known  to  have  rescued 
many  a  starving  art  student  from  suicide.  He  might 
in  the  future  want  to  buy  their  pictures.  To  be  amused 
or  startled  he  would  pay  anything,  owe  anything,  bor- 
row anything.  And,  oddly  enough,  underneath  a  skep- 
ticism which  was  French — the  French  of  Paris — and 
an  unmoral  attitude  toward  life  which  was  cosmopoli- 
tan, he  hid  a  paradoxical  sensitiveness  as  to  the  reason 
of  his  name.  The  name  itself  amused  him.  He  did 
not  in  the  very, least  object  to  his  mother's  careless- 
ness. All  the  same,  he  would  have  preferred  to  have 
had  a  family,  a  history.  It  would  have  appealed  to 
him  as  an  artist — one  who  had  a  feeling  for  age  and 
bric-a-brac  and  for  period  in  furniture  and  silver.  It 
was,  however,  nothing  more  than  just  a  regret  which 
he  cultivated  as  a  hobby.  It  amused  him  to  be  sorry, 
and  there  the  thing  ended.  He  discussed  it  in  his  ex- 
pansive moments  and  speculated  epigrammatically  as 
to  whom  he  might  not  have  been  if  born  in  wedlock. 
He  often  gave  himself  the  most  curious  parents  and 
played  the  part  for  half  an  hour  in  the  most  brilliant 
manner  of  one  who  was,  perhaps,  the  son  of  George 
Bernard  Shaw  and  Mrs.  Pankhurst,  or  Mr.  Charles 
Hawtrey  and  the  Duchess  of  Rutland,  or  Mr.  John 
Burns  and  Baroness  Von  Hutten,  or  Mr.  G.  K.  Ches- 
terton and  Mrs.  Eddy.  In  fact,  his  imagination  was 
very  fertile.  In  these  moments  he  kept  odd  assort- 
ments of  human  beings  in  fits  of  almost  painful  laugh- 
ter. He  made  his  table  the  center  of  attraction  in 
the  only  brasserie  in  London  which  reflects  anything 
of  Continentalism.  He  had  his  moments,  very  few 

182 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

and  far  between,  of  the  most  poignant  depression,  but 
even  then  he  was  depressed  in  a  completely  artistic 
manner.  With  the  calmest  deliberation  he  would  choose 
a  foggy  night  and  then  drive  to  the  Embankment  by 
Cleopatra's  Needle  and,  warmly  clad  in  a  fur  overcoat, 
stand  listening  to  the  cold  lap  of  an  outgoing  tide. 
These  occasional  fits  sent  him  back  to  his  super-civili- 
zation with  a  new  zest  for  diablerie. 

This  was  the  man  who  had  been  faintly  amused  by 
Harry's  sawdust  blasphemies,  and  this  was  the  man 
who  at  first  sight  of  Dick  found  life  more  interesting 
than  it  had  ever  been  before. 


183 


CHAPTER   V 

IT  happened  by  a  series  of  accidents  that  Rene  de 
Maingauche  was  obliged  to  play  fox-and-grapes 
so  far  as  Dick  was  concerned.  Whenever  he 
went  to  the  Okehampton  flat  obsessed  with  the  desire 
to  take  Dick  to  tea,  or  to  dinner,  or  to  supper,  or  for 
a  run  in  his  car,  or  anywhere,  she  was  always  out. 
At  first  he  thought  that  this  was  cleverness  on,  Dick's 
part,  a  well-reasoned  manner  of  keeping  him  on  a 
string.  It  was,  at  any  rate,  the  sort  of  thing  that 
Harry  frequently  did,  and  he  imagined  that  it  was 
characteristic  of  the  family.  It  had  the  effect  of  put- 
ting him  into  a  condition  of  irritability  which  was 
extremely  bad  for  his  car,  his  man  servant  and  for 
Tony  Okehampton,  who  was  now  playing  the  fond 
parent  to  perfection. 

One  Saturday  night,  however,  just  as  he  was  going 
to  bed,  a  taxicab  drove  up  with  a  note  from  Dick. 
He  had  never  seen  her  great,  big  school-boy  writing 
before,  but  he  knew  the  Okehampton  crest  on  the  en- 
velope. Tony  had  seen  to  it  that  the  flat  was  pinked 
with  his  crest.  It  gave  him  an  added  springiness  to 
his  walk.  The  note  ran  in  this  way : 

DEAR  BLACK  PRINCE: 

I  am  bored  stiff.    If  it's  decent  weather  to-morrow,  for 
the  Lord's  sake  come  and  fetch  me  and  drive  me  down  to 

184 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Brighton  or  somewhere.  If  I  have  much  more  of  all  the 
old  wolves  who  prowl  about  this  place  I  shall  go  fairly  up  the 
pole.  Don't  get  here  much  before  eleven  and  bring  a  store 
of  extra  petrol.  I  may  cut  Brighton  at  the  last  minute  and 
take  a  fancy  for  Edinburgh.  I  don't  care  a  hang  if  I'm  not 
back  in  London  till  Monday  night  at  seven  o'clock. 

APPLE  OF  TONY'S  EYE. 

Rene  had  been  unable  to  discover  anything  new  for 
at  least  twenty-four  hours.  Everything  had  failed 
him.  The  earth  had  become  a  stale  and  boring  place. 
This  letter  acted  upon  him  like  electricity.  This  hith- 
erto elusive,  curiously  cold,  boyish  girl  with  gray  eyes 
which  seemed  to  set  him  on  fire  and  immediately  put 
out  the  flame,  actually  handed  herself  to  him.  It  was 
a  great  night.  The  man  who  needed  amusement  be- 
came wonderfully  like  his  mother  for  at  least  an  hour 
— his  mother  when  one  of  her  admirers  had  presented 
her  with  a  little  snake  or  an  Australian  laughing  jack- 
ass bird.  He  got  into  his  dressing-gown,  a  really 
wonderful  garment,  and,  instead  of  calling  his  man, 
packed  his  case  himself.  He  was  going  on  a  honey- 
moon. If  the  shops  had  been  open,  he  would  have 
gone  forth  and  bought  elaborate  new  brushes,  although 
his  collection  of  them  was  already  remarkable,  and  set 
himself  up  with  another  collection  of  new  ties.  As  it 
was,  he  contented  himself  with  old  things  which  he 
had  never  worn,  and  while  he  packed  them  he 
sang :  "Je  suis  le  roi  d'Espagne,  jeune  fille  aux  yeux 
novis." 

The  infantry  captain  whose  rooms  were  just  beneath, 
and  who  was  sitting  up  with  a  wet  towel  around  his 

185 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

head,  endeavoring  to  force  into  it  some  of  the  in- 
genious twaddle  which  is  set  by  the  war  office  for 
those  British  officers  who  desire  to  pass  into  the  Staff 
College,  heard  paeans  of  laughter,  and  he  relegated  the 
lunatic  Frenchman  to  several  undiscovered  spots.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  man  above  was  entertaining 
a  party  of  devils.  The  ceiling  shook  as  though  an 
enormous  Mordkin  were  dancing,  and,  just  as  he  was 
about  to  overcome  his  characteristically  insular  hatred 
for  making  a  scene,  dash  upstairs  and  hammer  at  the 
offending  door,  the  room  above  seemed  to  empty, 
whereupon  the  infantry  captain  gave  thanks  to  all  his 
gods  and  returned  doggedly  to  his  acrostics.  He  did 
not  know  Rene  de  Maingauche.  At  half-past  two 
someone  started  playing  the  piano.  It  was  not  a  devil 
this  time.  It  was  an  angel.  Curiously  enough,  the 
infantry  captain  had  been  born  with  an  ear  for  music, 
which  proved  beyond  all  question  that  he  should  not 
have  been  born  to  be  an  infantry  captain.  His  mind 
was  lifted  out  of  geographical  absurdities  and  com- 
forted by  delicious  bits  of  Grieg  and  Chopin  and  Hel- 
ler's "Sleepless  Nights."  It  was  with  a  sigh  of  re- 
gret that  he  heard  the  piano  close  with  a  bang. 

Rene  drove  up  to  Park  Court  just  as  the  barracks 
clock  struck  eleven.  The  door  was  opened  by  a  neat 
maid. 

"Is  Miss  Dick  up?" 

"No,  sir.     Will  you  please  come  this  way?" 

Rene  heard  Tony's  unmistakable  laugh.  His  nos- 
trils caught  the  aroma  of  a  good  cigar.  When  he 
went  into  the  little  room  lined  with  old  masters  he 

186 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

found  three  men  comfortably  seated  discussing  Home 
Rule  and  other  modern  Gilbertianisms. 

"Ah !"  said  Tony,  rising  with  his  usual  flamboyance. 
"This  is  delightful.  Come  in,  my  dear  fellow,  come 
in.  Let  me  see,  now,  you  know  my  two  old  friends 
here,  don't  you?" 

"I  know  Sir  Galahad  Morde,"  said  Rene,  who  took 
it  that  they  were  two  of  the  wolves  to  whom  Dick 
had  referred. 

"Oh,  well,  dash  it.  It's  about  time  you  knew  my 
dear  old  friend,  Lord  Thoresby — Mr.  Rene  de  Main- 
gauche." 

Thoresby,  sparkling  with  cleanliness,  who  now 
looked  horsy  rather  in  the  manner  of  the  M.  F.  H. 
than  the  trainer,  nodded.  He  liked  the  look  of  the 
Frenchman.  Sir  Edward  Morde,  neat,  precise,  and 
old  maidish,  shot  a  jealous  glance  at  the  newcomer. 
He  had  no  imagination,  but  he  felt  convinced  that  this 
ridiculously  young,  slight  and  well-turned-out  person 
was  now  after  Dick  and  had  deposed  Harry  from  his 
affections. 

Here  were  three  totally  distinct  men  who  had  come 
to  the  same  place  for  the  same  reason  and  all  by  ap- 
pointment. Unknown  to  each  other,  they  belonged 
to  the  brotherhood  of  Dick.  Thoresby  was  to  take 
Dick  to  skate  at  Holland  Park  at  her  request.  Sir 
Edward  Morde  had  been  booked  by  Dick  to  initiate 
her  into  the  chilly  joys  of  the  Church  Parade,  to  be 
followed  by  luncheon  at  the  Carlton,  while  Rene  had 
been  booked  by  her  for  a  trip  to  Heaven. 

Tony  was  the  only  one  who  appreciated  the  delicious 

187 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

comedy  of  the  situation.  He  guessed  at  once  what 
had  happened.  He  did  not  persuade  himself  that  the 
three  men  had  come  to  Park  Court  to  talk  to  him. 
He  saw  in  them  Dick's  changing  moods.  She  had 
obviously  asked  Thoresby  in  one  of  them,  Morde  in 
another  and  the  Frenchman  in  a  third.  He  bet  himself 
a  tenner  that  the  Frenchman  would  lead  her  away. 
His  impishness  led  him  to  tease  the  three  men.  It 
was  a  splendid  way  of  putting  in  a  Sunday  morning. 
"You  didn't  meet  Dick  going  away,  I  suppose?"  he 
asked. 

There  was  a  simultaneous  "What!" 

And  in  this  way  Tony  managed  to  let  the  three  men 
know  that  they  were  all  there  for  the  same  purpose. 

"I  had  a  notion,"  he  said,  "that  she  was  off  to  the 
Oratory  to  hear  the  music  with  some  nice  boy  or 
other.  Perhaps,  I'm  wrong." 

"Dear  me,"  said  Morde,  "I  really  wish  you'd  find 
out." 

Tony  went  to  the  door  and  made  loud  bovine  sounds. 
Dick's  voice  came  down  the  passage.  "Oh,  shut  up, 
Tony!" 

And  so  Morde  smiled  and  Thoresby  and  Rene  eyed 
him  with  enmity. 

"Oh,  bless  my  soul !"  said  Tony.  "What  am  I  talkin' 
about?  I'm  takin'  Dick  down  to  lunch  with  her  aunt 
or  cousin  or  whatever  she  is." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Thoresby. 

"I'm  quite  sure  you're  not,"  said  Rene. 

"And  I  am  equally  certain,"  said  Morde,  "that  you 
are  slightly  inaccurate,  my  dear  Okehampton.  I  speak 

1 88 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

thus  definitely,  because  Miss  Dick  is  under  an  old 
standing  engagement  with  me  for  to-day." 

"Oh,  charming!"  said  Tony. 

"Some  mistake,  somewhere,"  said  Thoresby.  "I'm 
takin'  Dick  skatin'." 

"Oh,  delightful,"  said  Tony. 

If  he  had  been  in  his  father's  country,  Re*ne"  would 
have  had  these  three  men  neatly  tortured.  As  it  was, 
he  flicked  his  cigarette  into  the  fire  and  spoke  very 
softly,  almost  with  a  purr.  "My  car  is  waiting  be- 
low," he  said,  "to  run  Dick  down  to  Brighton." 

"Oh,  toppin',"  said  Tony.  So  long  as  Dick  re- 
mained at  Park  Court  there  was  no  need  to  be  ner- 
vous as  to  its  popularity.  And  then,  inwardly  im- 
mensely tickled  at  the  undisguised  antagonism  of  his 
three  uninvited  guests,  Tony  talked,  and  talked  ex- 
tremely well.  It  was  not  so  much  remarkable  as  pe- 
culiarly characteristic  that  this  man  had  climbed  out 
of  the  slough  in  which  he  had  wallowed,  pig-like,  for 
so  many  years  and  now  stood  cleaned  and  spruced 
far  above  it.  Outwardly  he  was  now  the  old  Tony 
Okehampton  grown  older.  He  talked  until  Dick 
made  her  appearance  in  a  tube-like  black  skirt,  a  black 
coat  with  very  tight  sleeves  and  a  new  set  of  fox  furs. 
Two  small  heads  with  beady  eyes  made  a  pillow  for 
her  chin,  and  her  oval  face,  thickly  coated  with  white 
stuff,  looked  whiter  than  ever.  Her  little  hat  was  very 
French  and  chic  and  possessed  one  feather,  which 
would  inevitably  poke  people  in  the  eyes  whenever  she 
turned.  She  was  utterly  cool  and  blase,  a  complete 
woman  of  the  world — her  world. 

189 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Hullo,  Mordy,"  she  drawled.  "Hullo,  Bill! 
Hullo,  B.  P.  Come  to  hear  about  the  state  of  the 
Constitution  from  our  friend  Tony?" 

All  three  men  rose  at  once  and  talked  together. 
Tony  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  preventing  himself 
from  letting  out  a  series  of  roars.  He  was  tremen- 
dously hearty  these  days.  Prosperity  sat  well  upon 
him.  These  were  not  the  only  men  who  kept  him 
entertained.  There  were  Harry's  friends.  There  was 
the  son  of  a  short  time  deceased  West  End  tradesman, 
who,  having  made  an  enormous  fortune  by  the  sweat 
of  his  brain,  left  it  behind  him  to  be  dissipated  by  a 
reckless,  degenerate  son.  There  was  a  man  whose 
services  in  the  British  Army  had  been  dispensed  with 
and  who  went  through  more  adventures  in  the  heart 
of  London  than  the  Deerslayer  ever  overcame  in  his 
virgin  forests.  He  was  an  aristocrat  in  every  sense 
of  the  word.  In  addition  to  these  two  there  was  a 
small  collection  of  young  men  who  were  supposed  to 
be  reading  for  various  professions  and  who  devoted 
all  their  time  to  an  indefatigable  study  of  what  is  called 
life.  So  Tony  got  as  much  bridge,  baccarat,  poker 
and  other  games  of  chance,  including  tossing,  as  he 
could  do  with.  It  was  very  profitable.  He  argued, 
and  perhaps  rightly,  that  he  was  a  more  deserving 
object  and  a  better  collector  of  coins  than  bookmakers 
at  hoc  genus  omne. 

Dick  immediately  put  an  end  to  all  argument. 
"Come  on,  B.  P.,"  she  said,  "come  on.  This  is  as 
bad  as  the  monkey  house  at  the  zoo."  She  turned  at 
the  door.  "There  are  hundreds  of  other  Sundays, 

190 


'  She  was  utterly  cool  and  blase.' 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Bill  dear,  and  Mordy  darling,"  and  threw  them  each 
a  little  smile. 

Rene  de  Maingauche  followed  her  into  the  lift  with 
gleaming  teeth.  At  that  moment  he  was  the  very  spit 
of  his  father. 


191 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  victor  kept  his  car  running  on  the  low 
gear  for  several  moments.  He  was  waiting 
to  be  told  which  way  to  go.  Dick  said  noth- 
ing. She  sat  hunched  up  with  her  hands  thrust  deep 
into  her  pockets.  She  was  in  a  very  odd  mood. 

"Well?"  asked  Rene. 

"Well,  what?" 

"Your  letter  said  Brighton  or  Edinburgh.  Which 
is  it  to  be?" 

"Does  it  matter?" 

"Somewhat.    You've  brought  nothing  with  you." 

Dick  looked  a  little  puzzled.  "I  don't  want  any- 
thing," she  said.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"It's  all  the  same  to  me.  Edinburgh  sounds  rather 
harsh.  Suppose  we  make  it  Brighton," 

"All  I  ask  you  to  do,"  said  Dick,  "is  to  make  it 
something,  and  make  it  something  quick." 

"Then,  Brighton,"  said  Rene,  in  the  highest  spirits, 
"Brighton  and  a  silver  sea." 

Away  went  the  car.  So  long  as  the  roads  were 
lined  with  houses  Rene  constrained  himself  just  within 
the  windy  side  of  the  law,  but  when  at  last  he  shook 
off  the  abortive  mass  of  houses  in  and  around  Croy- 

192 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

don  and  ran  into  the  open  country  he  gave  the  car 
her  head,  utterly  careless  of  police  traps.  The  roads 
were  hard.  It  had  been  frosty  for  several  days,  and 
there  was  a  faint  touch  of  sun  in  the  crisp  air,  which 
gave  the  trees,  all  bare  against  the  sky,  a  less  melan- 
choly appearance.  Through  the  suburbs  and  their 
ever-spreading  tentacles  Dick  remained  monosyllabic. 
She  paid  very  little  attention  to  Rene's  well-turned 
phrases.  He  might  have  been  a  chauffeur  more  gar- 
rulous than  his  kind  usually  is.  This  attitude  amused 
the  Frenchman  very  much.  It  was  something  new, 
and  therefore  something  to  be  welcomed.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  Dick  had  ever  condescended  to  go  any- 
where with  him  alone.  He  persuaded  himself  that, 
having  made  the  plunge,  and  having  invited  her- 
self into  his  arms,  she  was  in  a  delightful  flutter  of 
nerves. 

The  man  was  hopelessly  mistaken.  Dick  had  been 
to  supper  the  night  before  with  a  large  party.  She 
was  in  her  most  reckless  mood — a  mood  in  which  she 
threw  rolls  at  distant  acquaintances  and  conducted  the 
band  with  a  fork.  For  the  most  part  the  music  had 
confined  itself  to  selections,  to  the  jingling  reminis- 
cent stuff  of  musical  comedies.  But  without  rhyme 
or  reason  the  conductor  suddenly  took  it  into  his  head 
to  play  a  little  old  song  of  Sullivan's.  It  wound  its 
way  around  Dick's  untouched  heart.  It  gave  her  an 
overwhelming  feeling  of  homesickness.  It  made  her 
want  to  creep  away,  find  her  mother — the  mother 
whom  she  remembered  as  a  bright  and  charming 
woman — and  lie  in  her  arms.  When  the  simple  mel- 

193 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

ody  came  to  an  end  she  got  up  without  a  word  and 
left  the  place  and  went  home.  On  the  table  in  the 
hall  there  was  a  letter  from  Jack.  It  was  just  as 
simple  and  just  as  sincere  and  just  as  full  of  an  under- 
current of  feeling  as  the  song  had  been  and  wound 
up,  "Believe  me,  dear  Dick,  always  your  old  pal." 
Dick  waited  until  the  flat  cleared.  Then  she  stalked 
in  to  her  father,  who  was  singing  to  himself.  She 
said:  "Look  here,  Tony,  mother's  got  to  come  here. 
If  she  doesn't,  I  sling  my  hook  and  there's  an  end 
of  it.  Why  should  we  live  here  in  luxury,  while 
mother's  buried  away  in  that  dismal  hole  at  Blooms- 
bury?  Harry  and  I  have  done  what  you  asked  us, 
and  not  let  her  know  anything  about  this  place.  When 
I  write,  which  isn't  often,  I  write  from  the  theater. 
I  don't  think  Harry  ever  troubles  herself.  And  I  want 
mother  here,  d'ye  see?  Is  that  clear?" 

If  there  was  one  person  on  earth  whom  Tony  did 
not  want  under  his  new  roof  she  was  his  wife.  He 
knew  Dick.  He  knew  that  if  he  diplomatized,  the 
desire  for  her  mother  would  pass.  So  he  said  several 
nice  things,  agreed  with  Dick  that  her  mother  should 
come  to  the  flat,  and  went  off  to  bed,  where  he  dis- 
missed the  whole  thing  from  his  mind. 

He  was  very  nearly  right.  Dick  cried  badly  for 
several  hours,  called  herself,  Harry  and  her  father 
by  all  sorts  of  names  and  underwent  a  sort  of  agony 
of  pain  and  regret.  In  the  morning  she  woke  up  with 
a  headache,  wondered  what  in  the  world  it  had  been 
to  cause  her  to  be  such  a  fool  as  to  cry,  and  thanked 
Heaven  that  she  had  sent  a  note  to  Rene.  Neverthe- 

194 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

less,  something  of  her  emotion  remained.  She  had 
read  Jack's  letter  again.  It  made  everything  that  she 
was  doing  seem  horribly  stale  and  tasteless.  He  was 
doing  things  and  was  so  clean. 

Once  a  chameleon,  always  a  chameleon.  By  the 
time  the  car  came  to  the  straight  street  of  Crawley, 
with  the  Rising  Sun  at  one  end  and  the  Setting  Sun 
at  the  other,  the  cold  air  had  brushed  all  her  cobwebs 
away.  She  began  to  feel  hungry,  became  aware  that 
Rene  was  saying  amusing  things,  that  he  drove  well, 
and  was  very  good-looking.  She  remembered  also 
that  she  and  Harry  had  quarreled  about  this  man, 
and  that  in  a  sort  of  way  she  had  won  his  scalp.  Also, 
it  came  to  her  that  this  odd  Frenchman  who  was  not 
French,  this  Indian  who  was  not  an  Indian,  this  mere 
boy  who  spoke  three  languages  like  a  native  and  made 
his  way  through  life  like  a  sort  of  meteor  was  much 
talked  about.  He  was  His  Highness  and  the  Prince 
to  all  her  set.  When  he  chose  he  could  talk  with 
something  of  the  poetry  of  the  oriental.  He  appealed 
to  Dick  from  every  point  of  view,  more  because  he 
was  cosmopolitan  than  because  he  could  do  her  well. 
Unlike  Harry,  she  was  not  greedy  and  was  quite  pre- 
pared at  any  time  to  eat  bread  and  cheese  so  long  as 
it  was  served  up  with  laughter. 

Out  of  Crawley  a  man  in  uniform  who  leaned  on 
the  saddle  of  his  bicycle  made  a  signal  to  Rene.  His 
warning  was  understood  and  attended  to.  The  car 
slowed  down  to  average  speed. 

"Hullo!"  said  Dick.     "Funky?" 

"No.    But  after  all  I  own  a  car,  and  I  may  as  well 

195 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

be  able  to  drive  it  when  I  want  to.  If  my  license  is 
indorsed  again,  it  may  be  suspended  altogether.  See 
my  point?" 

"Have  it  suspended!"  said  Dick.  "What  a  spree! 
I'd  simply  love  to  have  a  car  that  I  couldn't  drive. 
I'd  lend  it  out  and  be  a  passenger.  It  'ud  break  the 
monotony  a  bit." 

Rene  laughed.  He  had  always  thought  that  this 
girl  was  worth  cultivating. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  run  he  did  his  best, 
like  a  tennis  player,  to  serve  Dick  with  something 
which  she  couldn't  answer.  A  very  rally  of  wits  was 
kept  up,  and  when  finally  the  car  stopped  in  front 
of  the  hotel  at  which  they  were  to  lunch  Rene  handed 
out  a  girl  in  whose  eyes  there  was  nothing  but 
laughter. 

Dick  knew  the  place  well.  Many  of  her  Sundays 
had  been  spent  there  either  with  Thoresby  or  Morde. 
She  passed  into  the  lounge — already  crowded  with 
people  who  had  left  the  dining-room,  a  heterogeneous 
collection  of  Jew  and  Gentile,  nearly  all  of  whom 
were  notorious  for  some  reason  or  another — with  the 
quiet  air  of  an  habitue,  nodding  here  and  there. 

With  a  feeling  of  excitement  which  Rene  had  not 
known  for  a  considerable  time,  he  went  into  the  clerk's 
office  and  booked  a  small  suite  on  the  second  floor, 
writing  in  the  book  the  names  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Er- 
nest William  Brownsmith,  the  sight  of  which  sent  the 
more  precocious  of  the  clerks  into  an  irrepressible  fit 
of  laughter.  The  Prince  was  an  old  customer.  When 
Rene  joined  Dick  in  the  foyer,  which  was  indeed  al- 

196 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

most  a  green-room,  he  was  well  pleased  with  himself 
and  the  world.  The  old  fable  of  the  fox  and  the 
grapes,  of  which  he  had  hitherto  felt  himself  to  be 
the  hero,  no  longer  applied. 

The  dining-room  had  many  empty  tables.  It  was 
after  two  o'clock.  The  band  was  still  playing  and  the 
loud  chatter  and  laughter,  the  warmth  of  the  room  and 
the  smell  of  cigarette  smoke  were  not  unpleasant.  An 
obsequious  man  conducted  His  Highness  to  a  table 
in  one  of  the  windows  at  which  a  jockey,  a  musical 
comedy  star,  a  negro  fighting  man  and  a  much-adver- 
tised aeronaut  had  just  been  lunching.  The  Brighton 
front  was  more  or  less  deserted.  Occasional  motors 
skimmed  by  and  every  now  and  then  a  small  party 
of  cockney  scorchers  crouching  over  the  low  handle- 
bars of  their  bicycles  made  the  luxury  of  the  hotel 
even  more  apparent  to  Dick.  A  muddy-looking  sea 
lapped  quietly  around  the  framework  of  the  West 
Pier. 

Dick  found  the  Black  Prince  a  very  lively  compan- 
ion. When  he  did  not  know  the  actual  names  and 
histories  of  the  people  at  the  other  tables  he  invented 
them.  His  inventions  were  nearer  the  truth  than  the 
truth.  He  ordered  the  most  expensive  things  on  the 
menu  and  two  bottles  of  Veuve  Clicquot  0.6.  He  did 
not  treat  Dick  as  though  he  had  known  her  all  her 
life.  This  was  the  sort  of  thing  that  other  people  did. 
He  paid  her  a  sort  of  insolent  deference  because  he 
knew  that  it  would  be  new  to  her,  and  he  had  already 
discovered  that,  as  in  his  own  case,  Dick  had  no  use 
for  anything  that  was  not  new.  With  a  wave  of  his 

197 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

hand  he  left  it  to  Dick  to  make  a  suggestion  as  to  how 
to  kill  the  afternoon.  "You  are  so  original,"  he  said. 
"I  cannot  compete." 

Dick's  gesture  was  entirely  characteristic.  "Let's 
go  down  under  the  front  and  play  skittles." 

The  Black  Prince  was  charmed.  He  had  never 
played  skittles  and  had  never  been  under  the  front 
and  so,  after  having  smoked  among  the  birds  and 
beasts  in  the  conservatory,  they  went  forth.  A  good 
deal  to  his  annoyance — Rene  had  an  altogether  oriental 
dislike  of  plebeians — the  skittle  alley  was  in  possession 
of  a  young  peer  and  his  satellites,  most  of  whom  were 
painted,  and  who  called  each  other  dear  and  darling, 
and  who  rolled  the  ball  like  unathletic  girls.  How- 
ever, Dick  intended  to  play  and  achieved  her  object 
in  a  manner  which  would  have  given  complete  joy  to 
Napoleon.  She  watched  the  lame  efforts  of  these  well- 
known  Londoners  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  and  then 
addressed  herself  to  the  man  in  charge.  "I  will  now 
play,"  she  said.  "These  people  have  had  enough." 
Whereupon  she  gave  the  astonished  crew  an  exhibi- 
tion of  skittle  playing  which  filled  them  with  admira- 
tion and  entirely  removed  their  annoyance.  She  re- 
turned to  the  hotel  in  time  for  tea  with  a  nicely  re- 
plenished purse.  She  had  only  played  for  a  sovereign 
a  game.  The  band  was  playing  in  the  conservatory 
and  many  respectable  Brightonians  had  come  to  see 
the  sight.  Getting  no  answer  to  his  question  as  to 
whether  they  should  run  the  car  out  before  dinner, 
Rene  turned  in  his  chair  to  look  at  Dick  and  found 
that  she  had  deliberately  gone  to  sleep. 

198 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

The  Black  Prince  chuckled.  Here  was  a  character. 
Here  was  a  very  queen  who  made  use  of  him  when 
it  pleased  her  and  forgot  his  presence  in  a  manner 
that  was  wholly  royal.  He  watched  her  as  he  smoked. 
He  decided  that  to  be  able  to  sleep  through  such  a 
noise  was  a  gift,  and  he  found  her  as  she  sat  in  a 
large  low  cane  chair,  with  one  leg  crossed  over  the 
other,  her  long  thin  hands  clasped  together  in  her 
lap  and  her  head  pillowed  in  her  furs,  a  perfectly 
adorable  person.  No  midinette,  no  freak  French  ac- 
tress, no  ignorant,  chattering  chorus  girl  with  a 
Christmas  card  face  had  ever  fired  him  as  this  girl 
did.  How  paradoxical  was  life.  Here  was  he,  ready 
to  undergo  humiliation,  to  deprive  himself  of  personal 
comfort,  even  to  wait  for  months,  to  add  Dick  to  his 
long  list  of  pleasant  memories,  and  she  had  quietly 
saved  him  time,  trouble  and  expense. 

Dick  slept  for  an  hour  without  moving,  and  almost 
without  moving  Rene  watched  her.  The  band  left 
the  place  and  by  twos  and  threes  the  menagerie  de- 
parted. Curious  little  love  birds  ceased  to  feed  and 
made  their  unmusical  conversation.  They  gathered  to- 
gether in  their  cages  and  sat  wing  to  wing  all  along 
the  perches,  making  spots  of  bright  colors.  Some  of 
them  with  their  parrot-like  beaks  bore  a  close  resem- 
blance to  many  of  the  people  who  had  motored  down 
for  a  few  hours.  The  place  was  full  of  the  smell  of 
patchouli  and  Egyptian  cigarettes. 

And  all  this  hour  there  was  a  smile  on  Dick's  lips. 
She  and  Jack  were  tramping  through  the  woods 
around  Quennor,  almost  knee  deep  in  the  dead  dry 

199 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

leaves,  which  made  a  sound  like  pebbles  being  washed 
up  by  the  sea.  "Hurrah  for  the  ginger  beer!"  she 
said,  and  awoke. 

Rene  bent  forward.  "Ginger  beer  on  top  of  tea?" 
he  said.  "Never!" 

Dick  eyed  the  man  with  the  hungry  eyes  for  a  long 
moment.  "Oh,  it's  you,"  she  said.  "I  expected  to 
see  Jack." 

"Jack?     Qui  diable ?" 

"Never  mind.  Now,  then,  what's  to  do?  Any 
ideas  ?"  She  got  up  and  stretched  herself  and  yawned 
and  put  her  hat  straight  and  kicked  a  footstool  out 
of  the  way. 

"Come  upstairs,"  said  Rene.  "There's  a  piano  in 
the  suite.  I'll  play  to  you." 

"Very  brainy,"  said  Dick.  "Do  all  Black  Princes 
take  suites?" 

They  went  up  in  the  lift.  The  sitting-room,  with 
its  peculiar  hotel  furniture,  was  very  warm.  There 
was  a  blazing  fire.  The  valet  had  unpacked  Rene's 
case.  There  was  a  cigar  box  on  the  table  and  a  box 
of  chocolates  tied  with  blue  ribbon.  The  door  of  the 
next  room  was  open  and  a  pair  of  blue  silk  pajamas 
was  lying  primly  on  the  bed. 

Dick  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  fire  and  captured  the 
chocolates. 

"Give  her  ten,"  she  said. 

So  Rene  sat  himself  at  the  piano  and  played 
Tschaikowsky  and  Dvorak  and  some  of  Liszt's  least 
Maiden's  Prayer-ish  pieces.  He  played  until  the  win- 
dows seemed  to  be  hung  with  black  velvet.  The  only 

200 


THE   OUTPOST    OF   ETERNITY 

light  in  the  room  was  the  flicker  of  the  fire.  Then 
suddenly  breaking  off  in  the  middle  of  Mendelssohn's 
"Bee's  Wedding,"  he  got  up  and  said :  "Cristo  Santo 
Dio!  Je  mangerai  ta  chair  blanche!" 

"That's  all  right!"  said  Dick,  "sounds  well,  but  this 
is  where  we  stand  up,  old  boy,  and  turn  on  the  full 
blaze  of  light." 

"No,  no!"  said  Rene.  "Let  us  remain  as  we  are!" 
He  tried  to  kiss  her. 

Dick  put  her  hand  around  his  throat  and  hurled 
him  backward,  made  an  eel-like  dart  across  the  room 
and  turned  on  the  light. 

The  Black  Prince  looked  somewhat  undignified.  He 
got  up  slowly,  lit  a  cigarette  and  stood  with  his  back 
to  the  fire.  He  said :  "Er,  may  I  ask  why  you  have 
done  me  the  honor  to  come  to  Brighton?" 

"Pure  kindness  of  heart,"  said  Dick,  "and  also  be- 
cause I  thought  your  car  wanted  a  little  exercise. 
Why,  what's  the  trouble?" 

"The  trouble  is,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  so,  that 
I  am  not  very  keen  on  being  violently  assaulted.  It 
doesn't  suit  me." 

"Hullo !"  said  Dick.  "Lost  your  hair?"  She  threw 
a  chocolate  at  him. 

Rene  recovered  himself.  After  all,  this  was  only 
another  surprise.  The  day  was  still  young  according 
to  his  calculations.  "I  think  we'll  dine  early,  don't 
you?" 

"I'm  cutting  dinner,"  said  Dick. 

"Oh?    Why?" 

"I  feel  like  it.  But  don't  let  that  worry  yoa.  You're 
20 1 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

staying  here,  I  see.  Good-night.  Thanks  very  much 
for  a  pleasant  day.  There's  just  time  for  me  to  catch 
the  express  to  Victoria.  So-long,  B.  P." 

And  before  the  phrase-maker  could  find  a  single 
word,  he  heard  his  door  bang. 


202 


CHAPTER   VII 

TONY  waited  up  for  Dick  that  night.  It  was 
a  curious  thing  that,  although  this  man  cared 
nothing  for  what  became  of  Harry,  he  de- 
voted many  secret  hours  to  genuinely  anxious  con- 
sideration for  Dick.  This  was  all  the  more  curious 
because  he  was  afraid  of  Dick.  Under  her  straight 
eyes  he  felt  like  a  criminal  who  sees  a  detective.  Her 
frankness  made  him  shudder,  and  yet,  next  to  him- 
self, Dick  was  the  only  person  for  whom  he  had  any 
love.  She  laughed  and  was  cheery  and  he  admired 
the  grit  she  showed  in  sticking  to  her  work.  In  her 
shoes  he  knew  that  he  would  not  have  put  himself  out 
in  the  least  or  permitted  himself  to  be  put  out  for  one 
moment  by  the  rules  and  regulations  of  the  theater. 
He  went  so  far  even  as  to  tell  himself — certainly  it 
was  after  a  particularly  drunken  night — that  he  could 
be  very  happy  in  three  outlandish  rooms  in  the  wastes 
of  North  Kensington  or  Hammersmith  with  Dick. 
He  would  get  his  little  excitement  in  seeing  her  to 
the  theater  and  kill  her  working  hours  by  watching 
the  moving  pictures  in  cinematograph  shows  with  a 
pipe  between  his  lips.  She  could  always  earn  enough 
money  to  keep  him  in  good  tobacco  and  the  daily 
papers. 

203 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

He  knew  the  reputation  of  Rene  de  Maingauche. 
He  knew  precisely  why  this  man  and  the  others  came 
to  the  flat.  It  happened  that  he  was  spending  his 
Sunday  evening  alone.  It  was  with  an  immense  sense 
of  relief  that  he  heard  the  front  door  open,  heard 
Dick's  unmistakable  step  in  the  passage  and  put  the 
Referee  aside  when  she  opened  his  door  and  gave  him 
her  invariable  greeting. 

"Hullo,  Tony!" 

"Hullo,  old  girl !    Back  early,  aren't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  am." 

"How's  Brighton?" 

"Just  Brighton." 

"Motor  back?" 

"No.    Train." 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  I  dunno.  Hadn't  been  in  a  train  for  some 
time.  Thought  I'd  try  it.  Not  a  bad  old  way  of 
getting  back." 

"Oh — did  His  Highness  smash  up  his  car?" 

"Not  while  I  was  in  it.     Very  likely  has  by  now." 

"Hullo,  you  two  have  had  a  row!" 

"Lord,  no.  He  doesn't  know  Miss  Okehampton, 
that's  all — cheery  cove.  Great  fun."  She  lit  a  cigar- 
ette. "If  he'd  been  properly  birched  in  his  youth 
and  had  never  had  more  pocket  money  than  a  shillin' 
a  week  he'd  be  a  Pierrot,  or  something,  by  this  time. 
One  of  Pallissier's  lot,  earning  good  money.  Or  he 
might  even  have  written  a  toppin'  novel  or  two.  How- 
ever, there  it  is.  It  isn't  my  business.  I  like  him, 
and  he's  useful.  Good-night,  Tony." 

204 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment  at  the  door  and  then 
turned.  "I  say,  did  you  intend  to  sit  up  for  me?" 

"Yes.     Why  not?" 

"I  dunno.  You  sit  up  for  me  a  good  bit,  don't 
you?" 

"Yes.    Why  not?" 

"Oh,  I  dunno." 

She  opened  the  door  again  and  again  hesitated. 
These  two  were  more  like  undergraduates  in  the  same 
rooms  than  father  and  daughter.  They  were  friendly 
in  the  same  inarticulate  manner.  She  turned  again 
and  flicked  something  with  her  finger.  "Look  here, 
don't  bother  to  sit  up  for  me  if  you'd  rather  not." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  old  girl." 

"Yes,  I  know.  It's  all  right — so  far.  When  it 
isn't  all  right  I'll  tell  you." 

"How?" 

She  picked  up  a  book  and  hunted  through  it  for  il- 
lustrations. "You  needn't  sit  up  for  me  till  I  fall  in 
love.  Then  I'd  like  you  to.  I  mean,  then  it'll  be — 
useful.  Good-night,  Tony." 

For  the  third  time  she  hesitated.  When  she  turned 
again  she  crossed  the  room  to  the  fireplace,  ostensibly 
to  look  at  a  picture  which  had  always  hung  there. 
It  was  rather  a  nice  copy  of  Dicksee's  "Last  Furrow." 
"H'm!  I  love  it.  Jolly  well  touched  in.  Well,  good- 
night, Tony."  She  bent  down  suddenly  and  kissed 
him  on  the  head.  "I  like  sportsmen." 

For  a  moment  or  two,  when  he  was  alone  again, 
Tony  couldn't  see  to  read.  "Good  old  Dick,"  he  said 
to  himself.  "Good  old  Dick." 

205 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

It  was  with  the  warmth  of  this  unaccustomed  feel- 
ing upon  him  that  Tony  started  out  the  following 
morning  upon  a  search.  He  felt  that  he  wanted  to 
mark  the  occasion  in  some  way  or  other.  He  wanted 
to  find  some  odd  and  unusual  trinket  that  Dick  might 
wear  and  laugh  at.  He  would  call  it  a  Christmas 
present,  so  that  she  might  not  think  he  was  chumming 
up  to  her  for  any  particular  reason.  The  frost  still 
held  and  the  mist  of  the  morning  gave  way  and  al- 
lowed the  elusive  December  sun  to  be  seen.  In  all 
the  glory  of  good  clothes  and  a  bowler  hat,  specially 
designed  for  him,  Tony  swung  through  Knightsbridge 
along  to  Hyde  Park  Corner,  down  the  hill  to  Picca- 
dilly Circus.  He  told  himself  that  Wardour  Street 
might  be  a  likely  spot.  He  found  that  he  was  wrong. 
So  he  poked  about  the  Holborn  end  of  Oxford  Street, 
eying  the  things  in  the  windows  of  curiosity  shops 
and  others. 

A  woman,  dressed  out  of  the  fashion,  whose  face 
was  hidden  by  a  thick  veil,  slipped  out  of  a  chemist's 
shop,  caught  sight  of  Tony,  drew  up,  eyed  him  with 
the  very  essence  of  sardonic  animosity,  and  when  he 
moved  on  sidled  after  him,  taking  good  care  not  to 
be  seen. 

It  was  Mrs.  Tony,  who  had  escaped  from  the  vigi- 
lance of  her  strong-minded  relative.  She  had  only 
seen  her  husband  once  since  the  break-up  at  Quennor. 
This  was  during  his  first  week  at  the  Oxford  House 
Mission.  He  called  at  Bloomsbury  Square,  not  to  see 
her,  but  to  borrow  three  and  sixpence  from  the  war- 
like lady  who  struggled  with  policemen  in  Palace 

206 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Yard.  "If  you  please!"  she  said  to  herself, 
miracle!  Where  the  reach-me-down  suit?  Where 
the  cheap  bow  tie?  Where  the  ready-made  blacking 
boots?  And  where,  oh  where,  the  gutter-searching 
eye? — Dear  Drusilla,  this  day  may  bring  an  epoch- 
making  change  in  your  life.  Who  can  tell?" 

The  unsuspecting  Tony,  upon  whom  peace  and  pros- 
perity were  acting  so  well,  and  who  for  the  first  time 
for  uncountable  years  was  thinking  of  someone  other 
than  himself,  wandered  on,  followed  by  poor  dear 
Drusilla,  from  whom  he  had  kept  his  good  news  a 
secret  wholly  for  her  own  sake.  When  he  stopped, 
she  stopped.  When  he  peered  into  one  window,  she 
peered  into  another. 

Finally,  when  he  found  something,  went  in,  made 
his  purchase  and,  coming  out,  jumped  into  a  taxi- 
cab,  she  jumped  into  another. 

"Follow  that  cab,"  she  said,  "and  when  it  stops 
draw  up  behind  it.  You  shall  be  well  paid." 

Tony  had  hardly  got  into  his  own  room  when  the 
servant  came  in. 

"A  lady  to  see  you,  sir." 

"To  see  me?" 

"  'Mr.  Okehampton,'  she  said,  sir." 

"Give  any  name?" 

"  'A  friend  of  the  family,'  she  said,  sir.  'An  old 
and  dear  friend.' ' 

"An  old  and  dear  friend  of  the  family!  Didn't 
know  there  was  one! — B'Jove,  it's  Dick,  spoofin'." 

He  watched  the  door  with  a  broad  smile  upon  his 
almost  rejuvenated  face.  Dick  was  up  to  one  of  her 

207 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

games,  of  course.    He  would  pretend  not  to  know  her. 
She  liked  sportsmen,  she  said. 

The  servant  showed  in  a  woman  who  quietly  raised 
her  veil,  showed  a  pale  face  and  two  eyes  full  of 
venom.  "Nice  weather  for  the  ducks,  I  don't  think!" 
she  said,  with  almost  pedantic  enunciation.  "You  have 
certainly  provided  me  with  a  beautiful  home,  Tony 
dear." 


208 


CHAPTER    VIII 

DICK  had  just   returned   from  an  understudy 
rehearsal.     She  was  in  her  bedroom.     Harry 
was  there  in  a  scarlet  dressing-gown.     She 
was  putting  Dick  up  to  date  with  certain  of  her  ad- 
ventures.    Both  girls  suddenly  heard  a  sound  which 
not  only  took  them  to  their  feet  but  along  the  passage 
and  into  Tony's  room. 

Harry,  whose  quick  intimacy  with  the  peculiarities 
of  life  had  given  her  some  knowledge  of  apoplexy, 
expected  to  see  her  father  stretched  out  upon  the  floor. 
Instead,  she  found  him  standing  with  his  mouth  open, 
having  just  emitted  a  cry,  wearing  an  expression  of 
fear,  horror,  rage  and  a  sort  of  annoyance  which  can 
be  assisted  by  no  known  adjective. 

The  two  girls  expected  to  see  him  looking  either 
at  the  spirit  of  some  old  friend  who  had  been  master- 
fully done  by  Tony  in  the  past  or  a  Sine-like  animal 
with  three  heads  and  thirteen  hands  and  an  eye  in 
the  middle  of  its  back — a  green,  slithery  beast  twitch- 
ing constantly. 

They  found  a  quiet,  pale-faced  woman,  with  venom 
in  her  eyes  and  an  odd  smile  playing  around  her  lips. 

"Mother!"  said  Harry.     "Oh——!" 

Dick  stood  still.  Something  seemed  to  prevent  her 
from  moving  or  speaking. 

209 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Tony  was  obviously  relieved.  The  presence  of  his 
two  girls  set  his  tongue  wagging  with  a  sort  of 
courage. 

"She's  found  us!"  he  cried  hoarsely.  "She's  found 
us !  My  God !  What  are  we  going  to  do  ?  Don't  let 
her  stay.  Tell  her  she's  not  to  stay."  He  threw  out 
his  hands  toward  his  girls  appealingly. 

They  were  both  silent.  Harry  was  altogether  in- 
different, Dick  filled  with  compassion  for  both  her 
parents. 

Mrs.  Tony  smiled  at  them.  "Well,  my  darlings?" 
she  said.  "Well,  my  pretty  babies  ?  Answer  oo's  dear 
papa!" 

But  they  had  nothing  to  say.  Dick  was  trembling 
horribly. 

Tony  broke  out  again.  He  was  like  a  man  face 
to  face  with  a  line  of  pointing  rifles  pleading  wildly 
for  his  life.  "Side  with  me !"  he  said.  "Think  a  little 
of  your  old  father,  who's  done  so  much  for  you,  who's 
given  you  this  beautiful  home  and  made  things  easy. 
Without  that  woman  I've  become  a  gentleman  again. 
I've  gone  off  the  drink.  I've  pulled  myself  up.  For 
God's  sake,  don't  let  her  stay  and  drag  me  under 
again.  She  did  it  before  and  she'll  do  it  again !  She 
hates  me.  She's  a  devil.  Dick!  Harry!  Side  with 
me,  if  I  never  ask  you  to  do  anything  for  me  again. 
Save  me  from  this  woman !  If  you  don't  believe  what 
I  tell  you,  look  at  her  eyes,  quick!" 

The  poor  wretch  was  shaking  from  head  to  foot. 
He  was  in  an  ague  of  fear. 

"Isn't  he  funny?"  said  Mrs.  Tony.  "Isn't  oo's  papa 
210 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

a  queerly  amusing  person  ?  Aren't  you  surprised  that 
I'm  not  angry  at  his  treating  his  sweetheart  in  such 
a  way?  Que  de  choses  nous  autres  femmes  subissent 
dcs  hommesf 

The  girls  said  nothing.  Harry  had  become  inter- 
ested in  her  father's  condition.  Dick  realized  for  the 
first  time  that  what  Tony  said  was  true. 

Tony  sidled  around  the  table  and  clutched  Dick's 
hand.  "Dick !"  he  cried,  "Dick !  You're  my  pal.  You 
understand  me.  You've  seen  me  clean  and  spruce. 
You've  seen  what  I've  made  myself  when  left  alone. 
Ask  her  to  go !  Ask  her  to  have  mercy  on  me !  Help 
me  to  go  on  being  a  gentleman!  I  like  it.  She's  an 
octopus.  She'll  clutch  at  me  again.  She  did  it  before. 
She  undermined  Quennor.  She  dragged  me  into  Hell 
in  the  very  first  year  of  our  married  life.  Everyone 
had  called  me  'Dear  old  Tony — white  man.'  She 
was  jealous.  She  couldn't  stand  it.  With  the  cun- 
ning of  a  thousand  devils  she  spotted  me  with  mud. 
She  encouraged  all  the  rottenness  in  me.  You  don't 
know.  Nobody  knows.  But  I  tell  you  that  if  she 
stays  here,  I  shall  go  under  again.  Dick!  Dick!  be 
my  friend !  Stand  by  me !  I'll  give  her  every  farthing 
I've  got  if  she'll  let  me  off.  I'll  go  and  work  if  only 
she'll  go  away.  Harry  don't  care,  not  a  damn!  But 
you  do,  Dick.  You  do.  You  understand  me.  You've 
seen  me  both  ways.  You  know  that  I  can  be  a  gentle- 
man, don't  you?  Dicky,  say  something!" 

All  through  this  stammering  appeal  Dick  had  stood 
very  stiff  and  white.  At  the  end  of  it  she  gently  re- 
leased herself  from  her  father's  clutch,  went  over  to 

211 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

her  mother  and  put  her  arm  around  her  shoulder. 
"Hullo!  mother,"  she  said. 

"Good-morning,  darling  Dick.  What  a  very  be- 
coming frock!" 

"Dick!  Dick!"  cried  Tony,  "don't  go  back  on  me!" 

Dick  held  her  mother  tight.  She  had  needed  her. 
She  had  thought  of  her  often  in  the  scrimmagy  house 
of  the  suffragist.  "Let's  go,  mother,"  she  said.  "We 
can  take  rooms  somewhere." 

"My  sweet,  unpractical  pet,"  said  Mrs.  Tony. 

"Dick!  Dick!  I'm  your  pal." 

Dick  drew  the  back  of  her  hand  across  her  fore- 
head. "Well,  what's  to  be  done?"  she  asked.  "Don't 
let's  go  through  all  that  Quennor  business  again.  I'm 
ready  enough  to  do  something.  Let's  leave  Tony  in 
peace.  He's  been  so  beastly  happy.  Poor  devil,  he 
needed  it." 

"That's  right,  Dick.  That's  right.  Stick  by  me. 
I'll  never  forget  yer!" 

The  struggle  seemed  to  amuse  Harry.  She  wore 
the  expression  of  those  who  watch  prize-fights. 

"Other  husbands  and  wives  don't  get  on,"  said 
Dick,  "why  should  you?  I  shall  earn  more  money 
presently.  There  are  other  flats  in  London,  y'know. 
Come  on,  mother.  Let's  get." 

Tony  shot  out  his  hands.  "Oh,  Dick!"  he  cried. 
"You  ain't  goin'  to  leave  me?  Who  am  I  to  sit  up 
for  if  you  go?" 

Dick  became  angry.  "Dash  my  buttons !"  she  said. 
"You  can't  have  it  both  ways.  Mother's  got  a  per- 
fect right  to  live  here  if  she  likes.  Either  she  stays 

212 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

here  with   all  of   us   or  she  goes   away   with   me." 

Tony  put  his  hands  over  his  face.  "I  wish  I  was 
dead,"  he  said.  And  then  Mrs.  Tony's  silky  voice 
came  in  again.  "Of  course  all  this  is  very  dramatic, 
typically  Okehampton.  The  church  and  the  law  have 
made  it  necessary  for  me  to  share  my  husband's  roof. 
Quaintly  enough,  my  own  inclination  bears  them  out. 
Of  course,  darling — yes,  that  is  a  becoming  frock.  I 
quite  appreciate  your  bravery  and  self-sacrifice.  How 
selfish  I  should  be  to  lift  you  out  of  this  refined  at- 
mosphere !" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  mother?  That's  the 
point." 

"Oh,  God,  I  wish  I  was  dead !"  cried  Tony. 

Harry  laughed. 

"Stay  here,  darling,  and  be  a  comfort  to  your 
father,"  said  Mrs.  Tony.  "Help  him  in  his  exemplary 
guardianship  of  our  beautiful  gels  and,  incidentally, 
enjoy  with  him  the  fruits  of  his  industry.  One  of 
these  fine  evenings,  Tony  dear,  when,  like  Darby  and 
Joan,  you  and  I  sit  by  the  fireside,  you  will  tell  me 
how  you  came  by  all  this  luxury,  will  you  not?" 

"Oh,  God!"  said  Tony.    "I  wish  I  was  dead." 


213 


CHAPTER    IX 

WHEN  Brasilia  sailed  out  of  the  room  to  in- 
spect the  flat,  with  her  arm  through  Dick's, 
Tony  waited  until  Harry  was  not  looking 
at  him  and  slipped  away.  Quickly  and  furtively  he 
put  on  his  overcoat  and  hat,  induced  an  umbrella  to 
come  silently  out  of  a  stick  stand,  opened  the  door 
with  his  latchkey  and  hurried  away.  The  marks  of 
his  tears  were  still  on  his  face  and  he  was  uncertain 
on  his  feet,  like  a  man  who  has  just  escaped  an  ap- 
palling accident.  He  turned  into  the  park,  which  was 
almost  deserted.  It  wore  its  out-of-season  melan- 
choly. The  green  chairs  were  piled  together.  Ugly 
skylines  could  be  seen  through  leafless  branches  and 
the  once  blazing  beds  were  dull  and  empty.  The  place 
suited  Tony's  mood.  He  felt  that  he,  too,  had  been 
flung  forward  into  the  winter  of  his  life. 

He  walked  about  for  several  hours  aimlessly,  ask- 
ing himself  what  he  was  going  to  do.  His  fear  of 
Drusilla  was  not  a  pose.  He  did  genuinely  believe 
that  she  was  a  devil  and  he  had  every  reason  to  do  so. 
It  was  a  curious  story  altogether.  Tony  was  a 
marrying  man.  He  gave  out  that  he  was  a  marrying 
man.  He  had  been  known  to  say  with  his  back  to  the 
fireplace  of  someone's  rooms  at  Oxford  that  he  should 

214 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

go  in  for  marriage  as  he  had  been  in  for  everything 
else — with  all  his  heart  and  soul.  It  should  be  the 
beginning  of  a  new  career,  a  new  and  wonderful  ca- 
reer, to  be,  God  willing,  highly  blessed.  Susceptible 
enough,  he  had  never  been  bowled  completely.  He 
was  looking  out  for  a  rather  small  girl,  tailor-made, 
who  could  wear  a  short  skirt  unobtrusively,  and 
nails  in  her  shoes  without  advertising  them,  who  could 
stump  across  country  at  his  side,  making  precious 
small  work  of  stiles;  who,  if  she  shed  hairpins  at  all, 
shed  them  secretly,  and  who  could  make  a  dog  under- 
stand her  with  not  more  than  two  words.  He  looked 
for  a  girl  with  white  teeth  who  was  not  always  smil- 
ing, who  astonished  you  with  her  femininity  when  in 
evening  clothes,  to  whom  children  went  instinctively, 
and  who,  if  she  liked,  could  make  a  piano  sing;  a 
girl  who  was  dead  honest  and  who  would  not  hesi- 
tate to  speak  like  a  man  and  a  friend  if  ever  it  became 
necessary.  In  a  word,  a  girl  to  live  up  to  and  play 
the  game  for. 

And  he  married  Drusilla.  Not  more  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  his  friends  than  of  himself,  he  married  Dru- 
silla. It  was  said,  of  course,  that  she  married  him. 
So  she  did.  She  had  no  love  for  him.  He  was  just 
the  gayest,  best-looking,  most  popular  man  in  the  place 
and  she  married  him  so  that  someone  else  might  not 
That  was  Drusilla  from  end  to  end.  She  was  the  only 
child  of  an  old  family  which  had  intermarried  for  two 
generations.  She  was  just  as  near  insanity  as  it  was 
possible  to  be  without  touching  it.  Her  Rossetti  face 
with  its  sensual  lips,  her  wide  set  bovine  eyes,  her 

215 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

red  dry  hair,  which,  when  let  down,  stuck  out  fuz- 
zily, and  her  long,  rather  loose  limbs,  all  put  her  in 
the  somewhat  doubtful  category  of  picturesque  women. 
In  every  way  she  differed  utterly  from  Tony's  not  very 
difficult  ideal.  Her  family  were  glad  enough  to  get 
rid  of  her  and  had  the  grace  to  pity  her  husband. 
They  knew  her  for  the  devil  that  she  was.  They  had 
suffered  from  all  the  Machiavellian  twists  of  her  brain. 
They  knew  her  cunning,  her  cruelty,  her  genius  for 
lying  and  misrepresentation.  They  more  than  sus- 
pected the  degeneracy  of  her  habits.  To  find  her  chair 
empty  at  their  table  was  a  relief  too  infinite  for  words 
— a  relief  which  spread  through  the  house,  up  and 
down  stairs,  and  out  into  the  stables.  The  very  ani- 
mals on  the  place  breathed  freely  and  cats  curled  them- 
selves up  on  hearth  rugs  in  broad  daylight. 

And  this  was  the  woman  who  was  permitted  by  the 
cowardice  of  doctors  and  scientists  to  marry,  and  to 
marry  Tony. 

The  peculiar  kink  of  her  mind  for  which  she  was 
not  responsible  was  to  destroy.  She  delighted  in  pull- 
ing things  to  bits,  in  beheading  beetles,  amputating 
frogs,  unwinging  butterflies  and  stripping  the  petals 
off  growing  roses.  With  what  relish  she  took  Tony 
in  hand!  Here,  according  to  popular  report,  was  a 
very  nearly  perfect  man,  a  man  whom  men  called 
white,  who  came  under  her  aegis  as  "dear  old  Tony." 
How  much  better  he  was  than  a  mere  butterfly  or 
one  of  a  large  family  of  frogs!  She  began  to  put 
him  under  treatment  from  the  very  moment  that  they 
drove  away  together  through  the  cheering  crowd  of 

216 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

friends.  In  the  first  ten  minutes  of  the  honeymoon 
journey  she  injected  her  poison  into  him.  It  was  all 
very  cunningly  done — painlessly,  insidiously.  She 
knew  herself  to  be  the  last  bead  on  a  long  string  of 
beads,  half  of  which  were  faulty.  She  knew  that  she 
was  mentally  and  physically  degenerate.  Here  was  a 
sort  of  prize  specimen  of  a  man,  strong,  honest,  mus- 
cular, well  trained,  well  satisfied.  She  was  deadly 
jealous  of  all  this.  She  detested  in  him  those  qualities 
which  she  had  never  possessed,  through  no  fault  of 
her  own.  How  nice,  how  supremely  comforting  to 
revenge  herself  upon  this  man,  gradually  to  undermine 
him,  gradually  and  gradually  to  see  him  totter,  tumble 
and  collapse ! 

Tony  was  like  putty  in  her  deft  fingers.  Like  most 
good-natured  men,  he  was  weak.  Like  nearly  all 
men,  he  was  chameleonic.  Lead  him  into  a  cathedral 
and  he  would  be  put  in  touch  with  God.  Put  him 
among  swine  and  he  would  become  Gadarean  in  his 
swinishness.  Not,  of  course,  at  once,  but  gradually 
and  gradually.  No  inhuman  foul  creature  whose  life 
is  devoted  to  carrying  plague  germs  from  place  to 
place  ever  did  its  work  better  or  with  more  gleeful 
enjoyment  than  did  Drusilla.  She  had  Tony  pinned 
like  a  great  moth  to  a  cardboard.  She  led  him  gradu- 
ally into  drinking  habits,  into  slovenliness  of  mind 
and  person.  She  goaded  him  into  blasphemies  and 
teased  him  into  violence.  Like  a  vampire,  she  sucked 
all  his  good  qualities  away  and  finally  deserted  him 
for  other  pursuits  as  no  longer  able  to  supply  her 
with  any  amusement. 

217 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

No  wonder  that  the  regenerated  Tony,  or  at  any 
rate,  the  as  much  as  possible  regenerated  Tony, 
trembled  under  her  eye,  in  which  he  saw  once  more 
the  old  look.  No  wonder  he  deserted  his  house,  and 
as  he  paced  aimlessly  about  asked  himself  what  he 
was  to  do.  Again  and  again  he  repeated  to  himself 
the  words  he  had  used  to  Dick.  "I  am  a  gentleman, 
a  gentleman."  He  was  proud  of  himself  once  more. 
He  was  clean  and  smart.  Decent  thoughts  were  strug- 
gling through  the  nettles  in  his  brain  like  little  flowers. 
A  desire  to  love  and  be  loved  returned.  Even  the 
desire  to  put  himself  out  for  someone  else.  The  un- 
comfortable faculty  of  facing  the  truth  was  stirring 
once  more.  He  was  beginning,  just  dimly  beginning, 
to  be  afraid  to  realize  the  hideousness  of  his  deal  with 
Thoresby.  He  was  glad  of  it,  although  at  present 
he  was  not  yet  convalescent  enough  to  take  any  steps, 
and  it  was  at  this  moment  that  Providence  had  seen 
fit  to  put  this  devil  back  into  his  life.  "Oh,  it's  hard, 
it's  hard !"  he  whimpered.  "Oh,  damn  it !  It's  hard ! 
I  can  escape,  and  I'm  thankful  enough  for  that.  But 
she  takes  Dick  from  me,  and  what'll  she  do  to  Dick? 
Oh— what'll  she  do  to  Dick?" 


218 


PART   IV 
CHAPTER   I 

THERE  had  been  a  series  of  failures  at  the  Lon- 
don Theater.  It  puzzled  people.  It  was  a 
new  and  charming  theater,  even  more  com- 
fortable, if  possible,  than  the  successful  variety  theaters, 
and  it  was  small  and  compact.  It  was  properly 
warmed  in  cold  weather  and  had  no  cutting  drafts 
which  punished  people  for  buying  stalls.  It  was  not 
buried  away  in  back  streets  which  reeked  with  garlic 
and  were  strewn  with  pieces  of  orange  peel,  and  into 
which  taxicabs  came  reluctantly,  many  of  them  in  a 
spirit  of  adventure.  It  was,  therefore,  unlike  every 
other  theater  in  London  except  those  devoted  to  musi- 
cal plays  and  one  or  two  old  favorites.  It  seemed 
almost  unbelievable  that  under  the  management  of  a 
young  actor-manager  it  should  have  acquired  the  repu- 
tation of  an  unlucky  house. 

Dick  had  been  in  the  theater  for  nine  months.  She 
had  understudied  and  played  small  parts  in  five  pro- 
ductions. It  was  almost  a  record,  even  for  London, 
where  the  running  of  theaters  is  not  a  business.  These 
five  plays  had  come  from  the  pens  of  well-known 
dramatists.  They  had  been  elaborately  put  on  and 

219 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

expensively  cast.  They  had  been  immediate  failures 
and  the  reason  was  obvious  to  everyone  except  the 
young  actor-manager,  who  devoted  all  his  spare  time 
to  cursing  the  British  public. 

Dick's  shrewd  eye  saw  what  was  the  matter.  She 
saw  a  man  with  a  pleasant  enough  personality,  a  pleas- 
ing voice  and  a  nice  taste  in  clothes  who  had  been 
fortunate  enough  to  inherit  a  large  sum  of  money.  If 
he  had  been  seen  in  a  small  part  in  a  third-rate  com- 
pany on  a  seaside  pier  people  would  have  said, 
"Charming!  Who  is  he?"  Like  so  many  others  who 
believe  that  acting  is  the  only  profession  which  needs 
no  apprenticeship  and  no  training,  nothing  could  get 
the  idea  out  of  his  mind  that  he  had  only  to  plaster 
London  with  his  name  to  take  his  place  among  the 
great  actors  of  the  day.  Having  surrounded  himself 
with  a  body  of  sycophants  who  never  by  any  chance 
offered  him  criticism,  he  set  to  work  to  choose  only 
those  plays  in  which  the  leading  man's  part  occupied 
the  center  of  the  stage  during  the  whole  of  their  ac- 
tion. He  was  the  actor-manager.  His  was  the  name 
that  skimmed  about  London  on  'buses  and  was  to  be 
seen  up  and  down  the  streets  on  boards.  What  more 
was  necessary?  It  never  occurred  to  him,  and,  of 
course,  no  one  ever  put  it  into  his  mind,  except  one 
or  two  minor  critics  who  wrote  for  papers  which  ob- 
tained no  theatrical  advertisements,  that  the  British 
public  is  not  entirely  brainless.  Like  all  men  who  live 
in  the  theater,  think  theater  and  talk  theater,  he  was 
obsessed  with  the  idea  that  the  British  public  is  not 
only  brainless  but  idiotic.  He  could  not  understand 

220 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

how  it  was  that  men  and  women  who  managed  to 
earn  a  living  outside  the  theater — and,  therefore,  in 
one  or  other  of  the  professions  which  was  of  little 
account — hesitated  to  pay  cash  to  see  him  nightly  and 
on  two  afternoons  a  week  enjoying  himself  and  feed- 
ing his  vanity. 

It  was  all,  really,  rather  pitiful  and  very  character- 
istic of  the  way  in  which  theaters  are  run  in  London. 
Given,  of  course,  that  the  rich  young  man  one  day 
met  by  accident  a  brutal  person  who  told  him  the  truth 
and  that  he  had  the  courage  and  the  sense  to  act 
upon  it  and  either  to  go  away  to  the  country  or  to 
Australia  and  begin  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder  under 
good  teaching,  there  was  no  earthly  reason  why  he 
shouldn't  develop  into  an  extremely  popular  London 
actor-manager  if  his  money  held  out.  London  is 
easily  pleased.  All  the  same,  even  a  brilliant  play  can 
be  entirely  ruined  by  amateurishness,  and  this  is  what 
happened  at  the  London  Theater.  The  only  thing 
that  could  be  said  in  favor  of  the  rich  young  person 
who  thought  that  he  could  buy  a  commission  was  that 
he  gave  employment  to  many  deserving,  if  curious, 
people — and  Dick  was  among  the  number. 

Sir  Edward  Morde,  who  was  in  some  way  related 
to  the  actor-manager  who  could  neither  act  nor  man- 
age, put  Dick  into  the  theater  over  the  heads  of  a 
large  number  of  young  women  who  had  been  working 
hard  for  years.  She  remained  in  it,  not  because  she 
was  a  good  actress — how  could  she  be? — but  because 
the  actor-manager  had  fallen  in  love  with  her.  For 
this  reason  she  was  promoted  from  understudying  and 

221 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

took  her  place  in  the  evening  bill.  Her  beauty  was 
good  to  look  at,  but  her  lack  of  training  made  it  neces- 
sary for  dramatists  to  cut  down  her  part.  The  drama- 
tist, like  the  policeman,  does  not  enjoy  a  very  happy 
life.  He  is  altogether  at  the  mercy  of  a  rotten  sys- 
tem. He  will  never  be  a  happy  man  until  actor-man- 
agers are  all  dead,  buried  and  forgotten  and  theaters 
are  in  the  hands  of  business  men  who  leave  the  stage 
entirely  under  his  direction. 

Having  spoken  fifty  lines  in  a  drawing-room  drama, 
thirty  in  a  farce  adapted  from  the  French,  thirteen  in 
a  romantic  comedy  of  the  Beau  Brocade  order,  twenty 
in  a  sentimental  play,  very  nearly  a  hundred  in  the 
dramatization  of  a  much  discussed  novel  by  a  lady, 
all  of  whose  characters  had  tiger's  eyes,  Dick  was  now 
concerned  in  her  characteristically  slap-dash  manner 
as  to  the  frock  she  was  to  wear  in  the  new  production. 
She  found  no  interest  in  her  part  and  so  took  even 
less  trouble  over  it  than  she  had  taken  with  the  others. 
In  desperation,  having  run  the  gamut,  the  actor-man- 
ager was  now  endeavoring  to  win  his  long-delayed 
popularity  with  a  play  by  a  new  writer.  This  man 
was  a  vegetarian,  a  non-smoker.  He  had  his  hair  cut 
by  his  wife  and  made  his  clothes  himself.  It  goes 
without  saying,  therefore,  that  he  was  a  Socialist.  He 
did  not  belong  to  the  variety  which  calls  itself  Chris- 
tian Socialist.  He  regarded  those  old-fashioned  non- 
thinkers  who  worshiped  God  as  poisonous  people.  He 
said  that  they  retarded  the  Great  Onward  Movement. 
The  actor-manager  himself,  all  his  sycophants  and  all 
the  members  of  his  company,  except  one,  who,  while 

222 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

at  Oxford,  had  studied  the  men  and  the  methods  of 
Rnskin  Hall  as  a  hobby,  were  unable  to  make  head 
or  tail  of  the  play,  so  they  spoke  of  it  with  bated 
breath.  It  was  very,  very  clever.  It  must  be. 

Dick  was  to  play  the  part  of  a  young  typist  who 
was  trying  to  entice  her  employer,  a  suburban  auc- 
tioneer and  estate  agent,  away  from  his  religious  wife. 
She  was  the  heroine  of  this  play.  The  actor-man- 
ager was  the  auctioneer.  It  was  he  who  insisted  upon 
the  author's  writing  in  a  scene  in  which  he  had  to 
kiss  the  typist  upon  the  lips.  Once,  in  private  life, 
he  had  endeavored  to  do  this  on  Dick's  lips  and  for 
some  moments  he  thought  the  ceiling  had  fallen  upon 
him.  The  worst  of  it  was  that  he  had  not  achieved 
his  object.  As  very  little  interest  was  shown  by  the 
press  in  the  forthcoming  production  it  was  hoped  that 
the  Lord  Chamberlain  might  raise  an  objection  to  it. 
This  doubtful  advertisement  was  denied  to  the  actor- 
manager.  The  license  was  granted.  The  censor's  in- 
ward comment  was  that  the  whole  thing  was  too  ut- 
terly silly  to  be  pernicious  and  all  its  astounding  new 
truths  had  been  said  before  ad  nauseam. 

It  came  to  the  final  rehearsals.  The  scenery  had 
arrived.  The  rooms  had  been  carefully  modeled  upon 
those  of  an  actual  auctioneer  and  estate  agent  who 
lived  at  Beckenham.  The  actor-manager,  in  his  en- 
thusiasm for  realism,  had  bought  a  frock  coat  from 
a  cash  tailor  and  had  had  his  hair  cut  by  an  English- 
man in  Beckenham,  High  Street.  He  looked  forward, 
therefore,  to  splendid  notices. 

The  second  dress  rehearsal  was  just  over.    It  had 
223 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

been  called  for  six  o'clock.  The  curtain  had  risen  on 
the  first  act  at  nine  o'clock  and  had  fallen  on  the  last 
at  three  o'clock  the  following  morning. 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  the  actor-manager  was 
becoming  quite  an  old  theatrical  hand,  an  artist.  The 
author  was  not  present  at  the  second  dress  rehearsal. 
Perhaps  that  was  because  he  had  attended  the  first  one. 
He  sent  a  post  card  to  the  stage  doorkeeper  asking 
that  his  letters  might  be  re-addressed  to  "The 
Lawrels,"  Rosslyn  Road,  Lower  Tooting.  He  was  a 
native  of  Tooting  Graveney.  An  earnest  critic  who 
always  liked  to  take  forty-eight  hours  over  his  notices 
left  the  theater  in  a  state  bordering  upon  nervous 
prostration.  He  had  laughed  until  he  had  cried  and, 
as  politeness  demanded  that  he  should  suppress  both, 
his  condition  was,  indeed,  deplorable. 

Dick  found  Tony  sitting  in  the  stage  doorkeeper's 
cubby  hole  explaining  the  mechanism  of  the  old-fash- 
ioned hammer  gun  to  the  fireman.  He  was  in  eve- 
ning clothes  with  a  large-brimmed  opera  hat  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five.  A  satin-lined  light  black  over- 
coat was  neatly  folded  across  his  knees  and  he  had 
just  started  his  fourth  cigar,  a  Corona. 

"My  dear  old  chap,"  he  said,  when  he  caught  sight 
of  Dick,  "you  must  be  absolutely  doggo!" 

Dick  laughed.  "Dear  old  Tony,"  she  said,  "I'm 
a  bit  fly  these  days.  I've  put  in  more  sleep  during 
this  rehearsal  than  I've  had  for  three  nights.  Strict 
orders  to  the  call  boy  only  to  call  me  when  my  cue 
has  been  spoken.  That's  the  wrinkle." 

Tony  rubbed   his  hands  together.      "Ah-ha!"   he 
224 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

said.  "Ah-ha!  Trust  an  Okehampton!  It's  an  old 
saying  and  true.  Well,  good-night,  my  friend. 
Don't  forget  to  tell  your  wife  to  try  inhaling  exer- 
cises at  the  window  every  morning  and  night.  In- 
fallible for  reducing  weight.  How  about  it,  Dick? 
Taxi!" 

"Oh,  rather!"  she  said.    "No.    Let's  walk.    What 
do  you  think?" 

"My  dear,"  said  Tony,  "whatever  you  say  goes." 

They  turned  into  the  silent  alley  down  which  a 
sturdy  policeman  was  coming,  flicking  his  lantern  on 
window  latches  and  trying  doors.  Tony  gave  him  an 
affable  good-night,  to  which  the  policeman  replied, 
"Good-morning."  Before  they  arrived  in  Piccadilly 
Circus,  Dick  and  Tony  were  walking  arm  in  arm. 
Except  for  a  prowling  taxi  or  two,  an  occasional  slow- 
moving  market  cart  loaded  high  with  cabbages,  which 
seemed  to  leave  behind  it  a  thin  trail  of  the  smell  of 
bricks  and  clay  peculiar  to  Middlesex  market  gardens, 
they  had  Piccadilly  to  themselves.  The  road  had  been 
hosed  and  the  gutters  ran  with  water.  The  wood 
pavement  of  the  more  important  side  streets  shone  al- 
most like  looking-glass.  It  was  a  beautiful  night. 
Every  conceivable  star  was  shining  and  a  new  moon 
lay  slimly  upon  its  back.  The  spring  had  been  a  late 
one  and  the  leaves  of  some  of  the  more  cautious  trees 
in  the  Park  had  only  just  ventured  out. 

"I  didn't  think  you'd  wait  to-night,  Tony." 

"The  faithful  cavalier,  old  man." 

Dick  gave  an  affectionate  squeeze  to  her  father's 
arm.  "I  don't  mind  telling  you,"  she  said,  "privately 

225 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

and  in  strict  confidence,  that  walking  home  with  you 
at  night  is  the  only  thing  that  keeps  me  human." 

Tony  drew  up  short,  stood  in  front  of  the  astonished 
girl  and  peered  into  her  face.  His  own  was  working 
oddly.  "D'yer  mean  that?"  he  asked.  "Oh,  honestly, 
Dickie!  D'yer  mean  it?  Or  are  you  saying  it  be- 
cause yer  think  it'll  be  worth  a  thousand  a  minute  to 
me?" 

"I  mean  it,"  said  Dick  shortly.  "But  come  on!  A 
bobby's  watching  us.  He'll  think  we're  dotty." 

Tony  said  nothing  for  six  lamp  posts.  Two  or 
three  hot  tears  trickled  into  his  mustache.  He  said 
to  himself:  "Thank  God  I  had  the  pluck  to  remain 
the  little  gentleman.  I'll  keep  Dick  straight  yet.  That 
woman's  against  me  this  time.  It's  pull  devil,  pull 
baker." 

"Well,"  said  Dick,  "I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Pa.  You 
may  confidently  send  a  paragraph  to  the  society  papers 
as  follows  to-day  fortnight:  'Mr.  Antony  Okehamp- 
ton  and  Miss  Dick  Okehampton,  the  celebrated  actress, 
have  left  London  to  drink  buckets  of  sea  water  at 
Wimereux.' ' 

"Oh,  hot  stuff!"  cried  Tony.  "Yes,  but  how? 
You're  not  going  to  chuck  the  piece,  are  you?" 

"Oh,  dear  no.  It's  the  piece  that's  going  to  chuck 
me." 

"You've  not  had  a  row  with " 

"Dear  old  Tony,  I  have  diplomacy.  Our  new  play 
is  one  of  those  masterpieces  which  ends  in  a  fort- 
night." 

"Oh,  let's  hope  for  the  best." 
226 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"I  am.  If  we're  not  very  careful,  all  of  us,  it  won't 
get  further  than  the  second  act  to-morrow.  The 
B.  P.'s  getting  fed  up.  I'm  betting  that  they'll  throw 
the  walls  at  us  and  portions  of  the  ceiling." 

"You're  not  in  luck,  Dick,  that's  certain.  I  think 
you'll  have  to  chuck  the  theater  and  go  into  a  musical 
play." 

"I'm  seriously  considering  it,  dear  papa.  I  can't 
sing  and  I  can't  dance,  so  I  shall  be  perfectly  all  right. 
In  any  case  I  don't  care  two  cusses.  I'm  all  for  the 
sea  and  for  peace.  I  dunno  what  it  is,  but  I  can't  bear 
the  flat.  It's  a  cross  between  a  cemetery  and  a  circus." 

Tony's  voice  took  on  an  eager  note.  "Do  what  I 
did,  Dick.  Turn  it  up,  my  dear.  Escape !  Come  into 
rooms  with  me." 

Dick  threw  out  her  hand.  "I  can't.  There's 
mother.  Harry's  never  there.  She'd  be  alone.  She 
might  set  herself  on  fire  or  something1.  Hullo!  Here 
we  are." 

"Yes,  worse  luck." 

Dick  eyed  the  polished  door  of  Park  Court  with  a 
look  of  fear.  "Jolty  good  mind  to  see  you  home,"  she 
said. 

"Not  in  this  world!"  said  Tony.  "Why,  dash  it, 
it's  nearly  daylight!  And  you've  got  a  first  night 
to-morrow — I  mean  to-night." 

"Yes.     Well,  so-long,  Tony." 

"Good-night,  my  darling." 

The  father  waited  until  the  night  porter  opened  the 
door,  until  the  girl  had  waved  her  hand  and  until  the 
door  was  shut  behind  her.  Then,  without  glancing  up 

227 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

at  the  windows  of  the  place,  he  hurried  away.  His 
way  was  Brewer  Street. 

Now  Brewer  Street  connects  Regent  Street  with  the 
French  market.  It  begins  rather  well.  The  first  of 
its  houses  still  have  about  them  an  air  of  dignity.  It 
is  a  little  faded,  a  little  pathetic.  It  has  one  or  two 
houses  which  have  fought  against  the  addition  of 
shop  fronts — houses  in  which  even  doctors  might  live. 
But  then  comes  a  turning,  at  one  corner  of  which 
there  is  a  public  house.  Consistently  enough  this  faced 
a  pawnbroker's.  After  which,  there  is  little  to  be  said 
for  Brewer  Street,  with  its  little  paper  shops  filled  with 
picture  post  cards  from  Belgium  and  racing  tips  from 
Amsterdam,  its  characteries  under  and  above  which 
many  families  live  like  rabbits  in  their  warrens.  Into 
the  reek  and  stench,  the  orange  peel  and  banana  skins, 
the  noise  of  mechanical  piano-players,  the  shouts  of 
fruit  vendors,  fat  little  Jew  girls  with  big  bows  on 
their  shoes  constantly  make  their  way,  carrying  newly 
stitched  clothes  beneath  black  cloths  over  their  arms. 
They  rub  shoulders  with  thrifty  French  and  German 
housewives,  costermongers,  lusty-lunged  butchers, 
undersized  Swiss  waiters  and  hosts  of  little  children 
with  dirty  faces,  dogs  who  peer  among  the  offal,  and 
electricians. 

It  was  in  one  of  the  houses  which  ought  to  have 
belonged  to  a  doctor,  and  may  have  done  in  the  old 
glad  past,  that  Mr.  Antony  Okehampton  now  lived, 
alone.  He  had  three  rooms  on  the  second  floor,  three 
old-fashioned  rooms  with  wainscoted  walls  and  un- 
even floors.  They  were  furnished  by  the  little  old 

228 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

woman  who  took  lodgers,  and  their  atmosphere  was 
mid-Victorian.  There  was  something  to  Dick  which 
suggested  Miss  Emily  Sarah  about  them  because  there 
were  antimacassars  and  an  ornament  made  of  hair 
under  a  glass  case.  The  front  room  was  a  sitting- 
room,  one  of  the  back  rooms  a  bedroom  and  the  other 
a  dressing-room.  In  these  Tony  endeavored  to  live 
like  a  gentleman  on  the  two  pounds  a  week  reserved 
by  him  from  Thoresby's  allowance.  Allowance  was 
Tony's  own  word.  The  good  little  woman  below  could 
not,  however,  undertake  cooking,  and  Tony  found  it 
at  first  so  expensive  to  get  his  meals  out  that  he  began 
to  lose  weight,  and  his  charming  clothes  hung  a  little 
less  well  upon  him.  He  said  nothing  to  Dick,  but  after 
the  first  month  of  his  escape  a  kind  friend  who  desired 
to  remain  anonymous  sent  him  postal  orders  weekly  in 
a  registered  envelope  to  the  tune  of  five  sovereigns. 

The  handwriting  was  Dick's. 

Tony  appreciated  the  anonymity.  After  all,  he  was 
a  little  gentleman.  It  was  necessary  for  him  to  eat 
at  his  club  and  to  go  to  Savile  Row  for  his  clothes. 
So  he  said  nothing  aloud,  but  every  Saturday  morn- 
ing inwardly  he  made  the  same  remark  without  any 
variation :  "She's  a  sportsman,  by  God,  she  is !" 


229 


CHAPTER  II 

DRUSILLA  had  not  been  idle.  Unable  to  turn 
her  mackerel  eye  upon  Tony  and  pull  him 
down  once  more  from  his  reerected  founda- 
tions, she  made  a  close  study  of  Dick.  She  was  in- 
tensely delighted  to  discover,  to  her  infinite  surprise, 
that  Dick,  although  careless,  was  virtuous.  Here,  then, 
was  something  for  her  to  do.  Here  was  a  very  pleas- 
ant way  of  occupying  her  undrugged  moments.  Dick 
set  up  for  being  "straight,"  did  she  ?  Dick  played  with 
fire  and  saw  to  it  that  she  wasn't  burned,  did  she? 
Bon  Dieu,  il  y  a  tonjours  des  chases  a  faire. 

But,  first  of  all,  Drusilla  had  a  keen  desire  to  find 
out  who  paid  for  the  flat,  and  why.  She  put  Dick 
under  a  dozen  unsuspected  cross-examinations.  She 
used  all  her  curious  charm  of  manner  to  this  end  with- 
out success,  and  this  brought  her  to  another  discovery 
almost  as  surprising  as  the  first.  Dick  did  not  know. 
And  then  a  third  surprise  followed.  Dick  was  not  a 
liar.  Yes,  quite  obviously,  she  need  not  weep  bitter 
tears  because  Tony  could  no  longer  be  practiced  upon. 
Dick  was  far  more  interesting. 

But  Drusilla  was  a  woman  of  resource.  She 
watched  Harry  when  that  independent  young  lady, 
who  traveled  considerably,  found  it  convenient  to  make 
use  of  Park  Court.  She  put  Harry  under  the  pump. 

230 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Harry's  mouth  had  in  it  the  tongue  of  Saphira.  Harry, 
she  found,  took  after  herself  and  deliberately  misled 
her.  In  fact,  so  strong  was  the  resemblance  between 
mother  and  daughter  that  Harry  invented  a  round 
half  dozen  intricate  and  ingenious  lies  by  way  of  keep- 
ing herself  in  practice.  She  liked  Harry.  She  was  a 
chip  of  the  old  block.  At  the  same  time  her  curiosity 
was  insatiable.  She  discovered  Harry's  weakness  for 
Grand  Marnier.  So  she  laid  in  a  stock  of  this  heating 
liquid,  and  one  night  when  she  and  Harry  were  alone 
in  the  flat  she  gave  her  more  than  enough  to  open  the 
door  of  this  Blue  Room. 

The  next  morning  she  wrote  a  cordial  letter  to 
Thoresby,  inviting  him  to  tea.  She  had  made  up  her 
mind  that  Dick,  the  virtuous  Dick,  should  become  Lady 
Thoresby  at  the  proper  time.  The  proper  time  would 
not  be  until  Drusilla  had  done  for  Dick  what  she  had 
done  for  Dick's  father,  but  more  thoroughly. 

It  so  happened  that  Thoresby  received  the  letter, 
in  which  unfortunately  a  delicious  quotation  from 
Georges  Sand  was  wasted  upon  him,  on  the  day  upon 
which  it  was  posted.  He  had  just  returned  from 
Paris.  He  did  himself  very  well  these  days,  and  went 
about  in  a  quiet  but  unostentatious  blaze  of  middle- 
age  dignity.  He  traveled  a  courier  as  well  as  a  man 
servant  and  took  a  Gilbertian  delight  in  the  size  and 
frequency  of  his  coronet.  He  might  have  been  a  prime 
minister  or  an  ambassador  or  a  person  who  had  made 
so  much  money  out  of  soap  or  pills  or  whisky  that  he 
had  been  positively  obliged  to  buy  a  peerage,  except 
of  course  that  Billy  Russon  had  inherited  that  horsy 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

look  which  only  comes  to  those  whose  ancestors  spent 
all  their  days  in  the  lists. 

He  had  seen  nothing  of  Tony  Okehampton  since 
Christmas  week.  Tony  had  then  called  upon  him,  and 
in  his  best  flamboyant  manner  had  asked  him  to  accept 
just  a  little  thing  as  a  Christmas  present.  It  was  a 
gold  matchbox  upon  which  was  cut  the  following 
legend:  "Indemnity  for  the  past  and  security  for  the 
future."  Since  then  he  had  seen  nothing  of  Tony  or 
his  family.  He  had  avoided  seeing  Dick.  He  was  too 
much  in  love  with  her  to  enjoy  seeing  her  with  the 
men  of  her  set,  Rene  de  Maingauche,  Morde,  the  actor- 
manager  and  the  rest.  He  was,  therefore,  quite  un- 
aware of  the  changes  at  Park  Court.  His  bankers 
paid  his  allowance  to  Tony  quarterly.  Harry  had 
long  ago  found  him  unnecessary. 

He  walked  to  Knightsbridge,  and  was  a  little  sur- 
prised to  see  Dick's  name  carried  on  the  shoulders  of 
sandwich  men. 

Drusilla  was  alone.  She  came  to  him  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. She  slid  into  the  room  and  stood  in  front 
of  him  with  her  large  head  on  one  side  smiling,  as 
she  thought,  roguishly.  Her  dry  red  hair  was  streaked 
with  gray.  There  were  deep  lines  under  her  eyes  and 
her  face  was  so  patterned  with  lines  that  they  might 
have  been  deliberately  placed  there  as  they  are  upon 
women  of  native  tribes.  She  wore  a  sort  of  nun-like 
robe  and  one  shoe  with  a  high  heel  which  belonged  to 
Harry  and  a  bath  slipper.  Her  stockings  hung  in  sags 
about  her  ankles.  She  had  evidently  just  got  out  of 
bed. 

232 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Thoresby  was  not  quite  happy.  He  wished  that  he 
had  sent  an  excuse.  "Well,"  he  said,  "I  needn't  ask 
how  you  are.  I  mean " 

"Unfortunate,"  said  Druscilla,  "distinctly  unfor- 
tunate. But  do  sit  down.  There  is  no  charge  for  the 
pews  here.  Besides,  do  not  let  us  forget.  Are  they 
not  your  chairs?" 

Thoresby  was  startled  and  uncharacteristically  at  a 
loss.  "How's  Tony?"  he  asked. 

"Still  whitewashing.  He  lives  alone,  but  shows  him- 
self at  certain  hours  of  the  day  to  an  admiring  crowd. 
He  is  in  his  dotage,  I  think,  and  I  believe  has  found 
religion.  It  amuses  him  and  doesn't  do  anybody  any 
harm." 

"And  the  girls?"  asked  Thoresby,  in  complete 
sympathy  with  his  old  friend. 

"Oh,  the  darlings !  My  sweet  babies!  Harry's  mak- 
ing a  complete  study  of  man  and  dear  Dick  is  develop- 
ing into  a  leading  lady." 

"I  saw  her  name  in  the  streets,"  said  Thoresby. 

"Where  inevitably  you  may  soon  find  Harry.  And 
so,  that  puts  you  completely  up  to  date,  does  it  not? 
But  before  we  have  tea,  dear  Lord  Thoresby,  let  me 
say  one  thing.  There  are,  as  we  know,  I  from  hearsay, 
you  from  actual  knowledge,  a  multitude  of  kind 
Scotchmen  who  lend  money  at  sixty  per  cent.  It  has 
been  left  to  you  to  pay  back  your  debt  at  the  same  rate 
of  interest.  It  is  very  beautiful.  It  heartens  me." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Thoresby.  "Er— what 
a  jolly  view  from  this  window !" 

A  servant  brought  in  tea,  and  so  Drusilla  merely 

233 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

laughed.  The  tray  contained  a  Wedgewood  teapot, 
milk  jug  and  sugar  basin,  but  only  one  cup.  A  small 
decanter  of  brandy  was  there,  however,  and  a  very 
graceful  glass. 

Thoresby  had  tea.  He  was  not  entertained.  He 
listened  for  half  an  hour  to  a  series  of  well-turned 
sentences  in  every  one  of  which  there  was  a  sting. 
He  listened  to  comments  on  current  events  which  made 
each  one  tumble  like  a  pricked  bladder.  He  felt  him- 
self gradually  becoming  coated  with  fungi.  He  pined 
for  fresh  air  and  the  noise  of  traffic  and  the  sight  of 
a  paper  boy  dodging  death  upon  a  bicycle,  and  it  was 
only  when  he  got  up  to  go  that  Drusilla  showed  him 
why  he  had  been  asked  to  the  flat. 

"Now  that  you  have  become  one  of  the  pillars  of 
our  nation,"  she  said,  "surely  you  must  begin  to  think 
about  posterity.  In  other  words,  why  don't  you  take 
a  wife?  Let  us  be  frank,  dear  friend.  A  little  bird 
has  whispered  to  me  that  my  sweet  Dick " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Thoresby;    "please!" 

"But" — she  threw  up  her  hands — "other  men  have 
ignored  the  deceased  wife's  sister's  bill.  Dick  would 
look  well  in  a  coronet  if  only  you  could  persuade  her 
to  wash  her  face.  Now,  I  am  a  woman  who  believes 
in  gratitude.  You  are  a  man  who  practices  it.  Let  us 
make  a  bargain.  I  will  help  you  to  make  Dick  your 
wife.  She  is  a  dutiful  child.  She  is  unattached. 
What  do  you  say?" 

Thoresby  was  silent  for  a  moment.  His  thoughts 
went  back  to  the  night  on  the  hill  and  his  heart  beat 
quickly  as  he  saw  the  girl  with  the  golden  hair  sitting 

234 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

at  the  head  of  his  table.  "You're  very  kind,"  he  said, 
"or  at  least  you're  very — well — I  give  it  up.  Knowing 
me  and  knowing — things,  you  seem  to  take  a  rather 
quaint — or  at  any  rate  a  rather " 

He  shook  his  head  and  held  out  his  hand.  "Good- 
bye," he  added.  "If  you'll  forgive  me  I  must  get  along 
now." 

Drusilla  held  his  hand  tightly.  "Think  it  over,"  she 
said.  "Think  it  over,  dear  friend,  for  Dick's  sake." 

As  Thoresby  walked  quickly  away  he  shook  himself 
like  a  dog  which  had  just  emerged  from  a  pond  cov- 
ered with  slime.  But  the  idea  was  planted  in  his  brain. 
Dick  as  his  wife.  It  was  impossible.  Dick  as  his 
wife.  After  all,  why  not? 


235 


CHAPTER  III 

DICK  went  to  supper  with  Rene  de  Maingauche 
after  the  production  of  the  new  play.  These 
two  were  great  friends  now.  The  Frenchman 
was  at  the  flat  morning,  noon  and  night.  Drusilla  cut 
herself  out  to  be  very  brilliant  to  him  and  edged  her- 
self into  his  good  graces  not  only  by  leaving  Dick  alone 
with  him  as  often  as  possible  but  by  throwing  her 
into  his  company  on  Sundays.  Her  feeling  toward 
Rene  was  that  almost  of  a  sister.  She  recognized  in 
him  many  of  her  own  characteristics.  He  was  only 
just  a  little  bit  saner  than  she  was.  She,  therefore, 
used  him  as  a  means  toward  bringing  Dick  off  her 
pedestal.  Rene  was  obviously  the  man  to  help.  It 
would  be  all  the  easier  because  Dick  liked  him.  He 
was  good-looking.  Romance  hung  about  him.  Money 
never  seemed  to  fail  him,  and  he  never  disguised  the 
fact  that  he  was  passionately  in  love.  She  felt  that 
she  could  sit  down  to  meals  with  Dick  much  more  com- 
fortably after  she  had  been  brought  down  to  her  own 
level,  or  nearly.  She  knew  that  Dick,  like  her  father, 
was  weak,  and  also,  like  her  father,  obstinate.  She 
was  clinging  grimly  to  the  fact  that  she  was  different 
from  Harry  and  from  other  girls  in  her  set.  Once 
this  little  bit  of  an  anchor  was  cast  off,  away  would 

236 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

go  Dick  in  the  middle  of  the  stream.  It  was  in- 
evitable. She  was  an  Okehampton. 

Mrs.  Tony's  deductions  were  entirely  accurate,  and 
as  day  after  day  went  by  and  the  mother's  subtle  poison 
was  injected  into  Dick  drop  by  drop  the  time  when 
Dick  would  fulfill  her  mother's  prophecy  came  nearer 
and  nearer. 

The  day  after  the  production  and  the  supper,  Dru- 
silla  tapped  at  Dick's  bedroom  door.  It  was  twelve 
o'clock.  Sun  poured  into  the  bedroom.  Dick  was 
chuckling  over  the  notices  in  the  daily  papers.  To 
her  amazement  they  were  not  only  favorable  but  en- 
thusiastic. They  welcomed  the  play  as  a  masterpiece. 
They  gave  the  author  a  high  place  among  the  new 
school  and  one  or  two  of  them  even  went  so  far  as  to 
say  with  intense  sincerity  that  the  play  owed  nothing 
to  Bernard  Shaw.  Having  waded  through  them  all 
Dick  mentally  relegated  her  holiday  with  her  father 
into  the  limbo  of  impossible  things.  The  London 
Theater  had  a  success  at  last.  She  need  not  have 
disturbed  herself.  The  man  in  the 'box  office  had 
nothing  to  do  and  the  libraries  refused  to  interest  them- 
selves. 

Drusilla  sat  on  the  bed.  She  smiled  through  her 
grief.  She  listened  to  Dick's  excited  talk  with  oc- 
casional sighs.  One  paper  said  that  Miss  Dick  Oke- 
hampton's  very  gaucherie  was  the  perfection  of  art, 
and  demonstrated  the  possession  of  genius  in  this 
young  actress.  While  endeavoring  to  prevent  Dick 
from  seeing  that  there  was  something  the  matter  she 
made  the  fact  clearer  than  if  she  had  said  so. 

237 


THE    OUTPOST   OF   ETERNITY 

Dick  said  within  ten  minutes  of  her  mother's  ap- 
pearance :  "Great  Caesar's  ghost,  mother !  What  in  the 
world's  up?" 

Drusilla  opened  her  eyes  very  wide.  "Darling!" 
she  said,  "what  do  you  mean?" 

"Oh,  don't  cod !    Let's  have  it,  whatever  it  is." 

"Have  what?    I  quite  fail  to  understand  you." 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  Dick.  "Something's  the  mat- 
ter and  you  want  me  to  know.  Very  well,  tell  me." 

"But  nothing's  the  matter,  I  give  you  my " 

Dick  made  a  great  uneven  ball  of  all  the  papers 
and  tossed  it  on  to  the  floor.  "Now,  then,  mother," 
she  said,  "please." 

This  was  exactly  what  Drusi^a  had  worked  for. 
She  said :  "Darling,  I  wanted  to  hide  this  from  you. 
There  is  something  looming  ahead  of  us  which  will 
certainly  send  me  back  to  Bloomsbury  and  your  father 
either  in  the  workhouse  or  to  gaol." 

"Not  while  I'm  alive,"  said  Dick. 

Drusilla  picked  up  one  of  Dick's  hands  and  kissed 
the  fingers.  "My  pet,"  she  said,  "don't  think  that  I 
have  forgotten  how  brave  you  are.  But  don't  forget 
that  your  position  in  the  London  Theater  is  built  on 
sand.  You  are  only  there,  and  you  know  it  deep  down 
in  your  heart,  for  one  reason." 

"Let's  pass  that,"  said  Dick,  who  knew  it  well 
enough.  "There  are  other  theaters,  you  know." 

"And  a  multitude  of  other  pretty  girls.  I  don't  say 
that  this  cloud  is  going  to  break  upon  us  immediately, 
but  it  is  coming  up  against  the  wind,  and  you  know 
what  that  means." 

218 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Dick.  "Do  speak  in  words  of 
one  syllable." 

Drusilla  got  up  and  walked  about.  Her  uneasy 
figure  wobbled  as  she  moved.  She  looked  more  than 
ever  like  a  Rossetti  woman  who  had  spent  several 
nights  on  a  haystack.  Her  untidiness  was  epoch- 
making.  "I  must  put  you,"  she  said,  "on  your  word 
of  honor.  What  can  I  do  but  drag  you  into  these 
family  troubles?  My  husband  deserts  me.  One  of  my 
daughters  leads  her  own  life.  It  is  always  the  good 
who  suffer." 

"Go  on,  mother,"  said  Dick. 

Drusilla  stopped.  "Thoresby  was  here  yesterday 
afternoon,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  but  what's  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Everything.  I  suppose  you  know — you  must 
know.  It's  obvious — that  the  money  with  which  we 
run  this  flat  does  not  fall  upon  us  like  the  gentle  rain 
from  heaven." 

"Billy  owed  Tony  money,"  said  Dick,  "and  he  paid 

up." 

Drusilla  smiled  sadly.  "You  sweet,  unpractical 
thing!"  she  said.  "All  Thoresby  owed  was  five  hun- 
dred pounds.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  with  generosity 
which  is  quite  unusual,  he  gave  Tony  twice  that 
amount." 

"Well,  what's  the  matter  with  a  thousand?"  asked 
Dick. 

"The  matter  with  a  thousand  is  that  it  cannot  be 
drawn  upon  for  furniture,  pictures  and  plate,  to  say 
nothing  of  linen,  pay  the  rent  of  this  flat,  which  is 

239 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

three  hundred  a  year,  keep  us  here  in  luxury  and  re- 
main intact  in  the  bank.  The  days  of  miracles  are 
over.  Not  only  has  the  thousand  pounds  long  since 
come  to  an  end,  but  I  am  steeped  in  debt." 

Dick  sat  up  very  straight.  "But  Billy's  got  stacks 
of  money,"  she  said,  "stacks  of  it." 

"Quite,"  said  Drusilla.  "But  can  you  give  me  any 
good  reason  why  he  should  play  the  fairy  godfather 
to  me,  to  you,  to  Harry  or  to  the  man  who  has  already 
sponged  on  him  to  such  a  tune?  Can  you?  I  ask 
you?" 

Dick  swallowed.     Her  face  was  very  white.  "No, 
she  said,  "but  why  did  Thoresby  come  yesterday?" 

Like  all  complete  liars  Drusilla  told  something  of 
the  truth.  "He  came  because  I  sent  for  him.  He  came 
in  answer  to  a  letter  in  which  I  humbled  myself.  He 
came,  had  tea  with  me  and  listened  to  my  frantic  ap- 
peals for  help." 

"Frantic  appeals  for  help!"  echoed  Dick.  "Is  it  as 
bad  as  all  that,  then  ?" 

"It  is  so  bad,  my  darling,  so  dreadfully  bad  that  if 
something  isn't  done  and  done  quickly  the  awful 
story  of  Quennor  will  be  repeated." 

Dick  shivered. 

Drusilla  felt  that  she  was  progressing  favorably. 
"I  didn't  spare  myself  yesterday  afternoon,"  she  said ; 
"believe  me,  metaphorically,  I  threw  myself  on  my 
knees  at  the  feet  of  this  hitherto  generous  man.  I 
pointed  out  to  him  that  if  he  didn't  open  his  purse 
you  must  inevitably  lose  my  protection,  Harry  would 
no  longer  have  a  nest  to  which  to  return — God  knows 

240 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

she  finds  there  a  mother  bird  whose  very  soul  aches 
to  bring  her  back  to  the  straight  path — and  Tony,  poor 
dear  old  Tony,  who  has  pulled  himself  out  of  the  mire, 
who  takes  such  a  pride  and  pleasure  in  being  a  gentle- 
man again,  who  even  refused  to  live  with  me  because, 
alas!  I  am  an  invalid  in  mind  as  well  as  body,  yes, 
even  poor  dear  old  Tony  must  sink  back  into  degrada- 
tion." 

Dick  shut  her  eyes.  Such  a  picture  was  too  terrible 
to  look  at.  "Won't  Billy  do  anything?"  she  asked. 

"There  is  a  limit  to  generosity,  my  dear,  and 
Thoresby  needs  all  his  money.  He  gave  me  a  little 
to  go  on  with,  as  much  as  he  could  afford — it's  a  drop 
in  the  ocean — and  said  many  kind  and  helpful  things." 

"Is  that  all?" 

Drusilla  had  not  enjoyed  herself  so  exquisitely  for 
a  considerable  time.  She  was  playing  on  this  child's 
feelings  with  as  much  art  as  a  great  pianist  upon  his 
instrument.  "He  made,"  she  said,  "two  suggestions, 
both  of  which  I  fear  are  impossible,  the  latter  indeed 
entirely  out  of  the  question.  He  said  that  you  were 
earning  money,  good  money — enough  money  perhaps 
to  take  a  little  modest  flat  in  some  slum  in  which  you 
and  I  and  your  father  might  live  in  some  semblance 
of,  well,  hardly  comfort,  and  with,  I  fear,  no  peace." 

"He  doesn't  know  much  about  my  salary,"  said 
Dick.  And  she  added  to  herself,  "or  what  I  love  to  do 
with  it."  "What  was  the  other  suggestion?" 

Drusilla  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I  don't  think," 
she  said,  "that  it  is  worth  while  to  mention  it  to  you 
at  all." 

241 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"I  may  as  well  have  it." 

"Very  well.  But  before  I  give  it  you,  bear  this 
well  in  mind:  I  will  say  this  for  Thoresby.  He's 
what  you  would  call  a  sportsman  and  what  /  should 
call,  in  my  possibly  pedantic  way,  a  good  fellow. 
What  he  said  he  said — I  think  I  may  almost  call  it 
humbly,  gently,  tentatively.  He  did  not  make  a  bar- 
gain. I  should  have  ordered  him  from  the  house. 
What  he  did  say  was  that  of  course  there  was  one 
way  out  of  all  this  for  us.  If  you  were  to  become  his 
wife  your  allowance  would  be  a  large  one,  and  he 
should  be  glad  to  think  that  you  devoted  some  part  of 
it  to  those  you  loved  and  who  love  you.  Those  were 
his  very  words,  though  of  course  I  cannot  give  them 
to  you  with  anything  like  a  suggestion  of  his  delight- 
ful manner." 

"What  did  you  say?"  asked  Dick. 

"My  dear,  what  could  I  say?  I  think  I  wept  a 
little.  In  my  mind  I  saw  many  dreadful  pictures. 
You,  no  longer  able  to  treat  your  theatrical  admirers 
with  a  lofty  contempt,  but  going  through  your  day  a 
sycophant  among  sycophants,  thinking  only  of  the 
utterly  inadequate  salary  without  which  there  could 
be  no  roof,  no  food,  no  clothing,  nothing,  in  a  word, 
between  Tony  and  cadging,  between  me  and  death,  be- 
cause, frankly  it  would  be  my  only  friend." 

"So,"  said  Dick,  "you  said  nothing." 

"Nothing!"  said  her  mother. 

Thoresby  was  as  old  as  Dick's  father.  He  looked 
older  because  his  hair  had  gone  very  white.  When 
Dick  had  ever  considered  the  subject  of  marriage  it 

242 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

seemed  to  her  to  be  something  curiously  sacred,  the 
beginning  of  a  new  life.  She  had  always  thought 
that  the  man  who  married  her  would  be  one  for  whom 
she  would  give  up  everything,  who  would  make  her 
utterly  insignificant  in  the  scheme  of  things.  It  was 
the  one  thing  about  which  she  wove  a  romantic  web. 
She  slipped  out  of  bed,  went  across  to  an  untidy 
table,  found  a  sheet  of  note  paper  and  wrote  a  short 
note. 

If  you  haven't  got  anything  particular  on,  to-day,  I'll 
come  along  to  lunch.    Yours  ever, 

DICK. 

She  put  it  in  an  envelope  and  addressed  it  to 
Thoresby.  "Mother,"  she  said,  "do  you  mind  ringing 
up  a  boy  messenger  and  having  this  taken?" 

"Very  well,"  said  Drusilla.  "Of  course,  you  tell 
me  nothing.  Of  course,  I  am  not  consulted."  But 
when  she  left  the  room  the  expression  on  her  face 
could  not  be  found  on  that  of  any  gargoyle  on  any 
building  in  any  country. 

She  found  a  man  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
morning-room  door. 

"And  who  do  these  fine  shoulders  belong  to?"  she 
asked. 

"Frightfully  sorry.  I  thought  I  might  find  Dick  at 
home." 

It  was  Jack. 


243 


CHAPTER  IV 

DRUSILLA  had  heard  vaguely  about  Jack,  but 
her  excitement  was  so  intense  at  her  triumph 
that  her  uncanny  love  for  experimentalizing 
was  forgotten  for  the  moment.  She  left  Jack  alone. 
Having  telephoned  for  a  boy  messenger,  she  went  into 
her  chaotic  bedroom,  sat  on  her  bed  and  hugged  her- 
self gleefully.  How  easy,  how  perfectly  simple  it  was 
to  deal  with  obstinate  people,  she  thought.  Given  time 
and  patience,  and  not  much  of  either,  she  would  do  for 
Dick  what  she  had  done  for  Dick's  father.  She  would 
marry  Thoresby.  That  was  certain.  But  first  she 
must  be  Maingauched.  That  was  the  next  thing  to 
arrange.  Yes,  oh  yes,  life  had  its  joys,  and  even  a 
woman  who  went  nowhere  and  did  nothing  could  find 
amusements  if  she  chose. 

As  for  Jack,  who  stood  in  great  spirits  looking  into 
the  Park,  he  simply  said  to  himself :  "Quaint-looking 
old  bird!  Immensely  clever  though,  I  expect.  Some- 
how you  can  always  tell  a  clever  woman  by  her  hair!" 
And  then  he  forgot  the  lady.  He  had  come  to  call 
for  Dick — Dick  whom  he  hadn't  seen  for  nine  months, 
Dick  whom  lie  was  to  see  now  by  a  pleasant  acci- 
dent. He  had  managed  to  obtain  a  fortnight's  unex- 

244 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

pected  leave.  He  sent  his  name  up,  and  he  knew  that 
Dick's  room  was  above  the  one  in  which  he  stood.  He 
heard  a  series  of  wumps  on  the  floor,  and  gurgled  with 
laughter  as  he  guessed  what  they  were.  It  was  Dick 
getting  up. 

Dick  came  downstairs  in  the  old  way,  and  as  she 
came  she  gave  a  view  hallo !  which  brought  Jack  to  the 
door. 

Dick  sprang  at  him  and  punched  him  in  the  chest 
"Hullo,  old  heart  of  oak !  Hullo,  Union  Jack !  Eng- 
land expects  that  every  man  this  day  will  do  his  duty." 

Jack  clapped  his  heels  together  and  saluted  and 
uttered  roars  of  apparently  meaningless  laughter.  He 
had  so  much  to  say  and  was  not  able  to  say  any  of 
it!  He  was  so  frightfully  glad  to  see  her  and  his  dic- 
tionary did  not  contain  the  sort  of  words  he  required ! 
So  he  made  a  tremendous  noise.  And  Dick,  always 
excited  by  noise  and  always  sent  into  the  highest 
spirits  by  the  sight  of  Jack,  danced  a  hornpipe,  and 
cried  out :  "Easterstoperturnerstern !"  and  any  number 
of  equally  idiotic  and  perfectly  natural  things.  The 
prim  bachelor  who  lived  below  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  a  troupe  of  music  hall  artists  were  rehearsing  a 
new  sketch.  He  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  of  bitter 
complaint  to  his  landlord.  He  was  not  a  very  human 
person.  His  complaint  might  easily  have  been  called 
heart  nostalgia. 

Dick  was  dressed,  but  her  hair,  her  wonderful  hair, 
was  all  loose.  She  bundled  it  up  sitting  on  the  arm 
of  a  chair.  There  had  been  no  time  to  cover  her  face 
with  paint.  She  was  the  Dick  of  Sydenham,  the 

245 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Dick  of  the  hills  and  the  trees  and  the  bumblebees,  the 
Dick  whom  Jack  adored  in  a  speechless,  eternal  way. 

"My  dear  old  Jacko,"  she  said.  "This  is  the  great- 
est thing  on  record.  Look  at  his  face,  London !  Look 
at  the  man's  face,  ye  cockneys !  Why,  you're  brown  to 
the  bone,  old  boy.  You  make  me  feel  like  a  pallid 
piece  of  toast.  When  did  you  get  to  town?" 

"Last  night,"  said  Jack.  "I  very  nearly  came  to 
your  first  night.  A  footlight  favorite  now,  eh?  My 
word,  what  larks!  But  mother's  one  of  the  best  and 
all  that  and  so  I  played  cribbage  with  her  and  gave  her 
a  series  of  slightly  bowdlerized  word  pictures  of  life 
afloat.  We  had  a  topping  evening.  Then  I  sat  up 
nearly  all  night  trying  to  write  a  letter  to  you.  It 
seemed  to  me  rather  hot  stuff  before  I  turned  in,  but 
when  I  read  it  in  bed  this  morning  it  put  me  off  my 
appetite,  so  I  did  away  with  it  and  came  along  instead. 
You're  a  winner,  I  see  by  the  papers." 

"Enormous  success!"  said  Dick.  "Colossal!"  She 
was  well  up  in  theatrical  terms,  and,  like  most  people 
connected  with  the  theater,  firmly  believed  that  the 
verdict  of  the  critics  was  the  verdict  of  playgoers. 
"No  holiday  for  me  this  year,"  she  said.  "We  shall 
run  through  the  season." 

Jack  made  a  grimace.  "I  suppose  you  couldn't  put 
on  an  understudy,  could  you?  With  two  matinees  a 
week  and  a  performance  every  night  it  doesn't  look 
like  my  seeing  much  of  you." 

"  'Miss  Dick  Okehampton's  very  gaucherie  proves 
her  to  be  the  possessor  of  genius.' '  She  quoted  the 
gushing  line  with  gusto.  "If  I  left  the  bill  master 

246 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

actor-manager  would  have  a  fit.  We  shall  have  to  ar- 
range to  lunch  and  dine  together  every  day,  that's  all. 
And  I  tell  you  what  you  can  do  for  me,  Jacko.  You 
can  run  me  down  to  Quennor  one  Sunday.  How's 
that?" 

"Great!"  said  Jack.  "Just  what  I  was  going  to 
suggest.  By  the  way,  I  saw  your  sister  at  the  hotel 
at  Portsmouth.  She  introduced  me  to  her  husband." 

Dick  gave  a  jump.  There  didn't  seem  to  be  any- 
thing to  say.  She  merely  nodded. 

"Nice-looking  chap,  I  thought.  Awfully  young  to 
be  married.  She's  not  a  bit  like  you,  is  she?  How 
are  your  people?" 

"They're  all  right,"  said  Dick. 

"Your  father's  out,  eh?" 

"Tony  doesn't — well,  in  a  word,  I'm  sure  it's  very 
nice  of  you  to  be  so  conventional.  What  lovely 
weather  for  the  time  of  year!  Have  you  seen  the 
piece  at  His  Majesty's?  And  are  you  going  to  the 
Horse  Show?"  She  laughed  and  said  all  these  things 
in  a  sort  of  mock  society  way.  She  wished  that  it 
wasn't  so  awkward  to  answer  questions  about  her 
father  and  mother  and  Harry. 

Jack  was  really  not  interested.  There  were  untold 
millions  of  fathers  and  mothers  in  the  world.  There 
was  only  one  Dick.  She  sat  within  three  feet  of  him, 
and  he  would  have  given  his  career  and  all  the  re- 
maining years  of  his  life  to  hold  her  in  his  arms  and 
kiss  her  and  hear  her  say:  "I  love  you." 

And  then  the  servant  brought  up  a  note  for  Dick. 
"For  me?"  she  asked.  "Who  the  dickens?" 

247 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

She  opened  it.     Thoresby  wrote : 
Do  come.    I  shall  be  delighted. 

And  he  signed  it  Billy. 

Jack  looked  puzzled.  It  seemed  to  him  that  a  rnsh 
of  cold  air  had  suddenly  swept  over  Dick. 

"No  answer,"  she  said,  and  sat  looking  at  the  thing 
in  her  hand  for  some  moments. 

"Anything  wrong?"  asked  Jack. 

"Oh,  Lord,  no!  Something  absolutely  right — look 
here.  Did  you  come  in  the  car?" 

"Rather.     Catch  me  walking.     Frightful  fag." 

"Well,  how  about  running  me  down  to  the  corner 
of  Half  Moon  Street.  I've  got  to  lunch  there.  After 
which  you  can  fetch  me,  if  you  like." 

"Like!"  said  Jack. 

Dick  got  up.  She  was  not  the  same  girl  who  had 
danced  the  hornpipe.  She  went  up  to  Jack  and  put 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  looked  at  him.  "You're 
a  sight  for  sore  eyes,  Jacko,"  she  said,  "a  mighty  good 
sight.  I  wish  you  were  my  brother.  Wait  a  second 
while  I  shove  on  a  hat,  will  you?" 

"A  brother!"  said  Jack  to  himself.  "Well,  that's 
pretty  good.  Mustn't  grumble." 

He  wished  that  the  road  to  Half  Moon  Street  was 
a  thousand  miles  long.  As  it  was,  he  managed  to 
make  it  longer  than  it  happened  to  be  by  a  series  of 
brilliant  maneuvers.  At  almost  every  turning  he  man- 
aged somehow  to  be  stopped  by  the  traffic,  and  he 
put  himself  into  a  most  beautiful  scrum  of  vehicles 
at  the  corner  of  Hamilton  Place.  A  man  in  the  win- 
•  248 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

dow  of  the  Bachelors'  Club  caught  his  eye  and  waved 
his  hand  and  lowered  his  right  eyelid.  Jack  had  al- 
ways known  him  for  a  poisonous  beast.  He  would 
make  a  point  of  looking  him  up  and  telling  him  so 
in  the  ripe  language  of  the  sea. 

Dick  was  very  quiet.  She  looked  very  tired  and, 
it  seemed  to  Jack,  a  good  deal  older  since  he  had  seen 
her  last.  He  put  her  down  in  front  of  the  curious- 
looking  building  and  went  up  the  steps  with  her. 
"What  time  shall  I  come  again?"  he  said. 

"What  time  is  it  now?" 

"One-thirty." 

"Make  it  two-thirty,"  she  said.  She  held  out  her 
hand.  "Good-bye,  Jack." 

"Good-bye!— Why?" 

"I  dunno/'  she  said,  "but  one  of  these  days  you 
will." 

She  went  in. 


249 


CHAPTER   V 

THORESBY  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it. 
Of  course,  the  mother  was  behind  it.  He 
was  certainly  not  good  fun  enough  for  Dick 
to  invite  herself  to  lunch.  He  could  not  persuade 
himself  that  Dick  was  coming  in  order  to  help  on 
her  mother's  plan.  Why  should  she?  He  was  old 
Bill,  old  Thoresby.  He  was  looked  upon  by  Dick  as 
a  sort  of  septuagenarian.  He  had  heard  her  talk  about 
old  man  Morde,  old  Gobbo  Morde,  old  Father  Christ- 
mas, and,  after  all,  Morde  was  only  a  year  or  two 
older  than  he  was. 

Thoresby  had  made  something  of  a  study  of  Dru- 
silla  in  the  Quennor  days.  He  had  been  left  standing 
still  by  her  cunning.  He  knew  that  she  had  the  sort 
of  tongue  that  could  undermine  a  religion.  Obviously, 
therefore,  she  must  have  said  something  to  Dick.  The 
point  was  what?  Or  was  this  just  a  coincidence? 
Was  Dick  coming  because  she  wanted  to  ?  That  was 
her  reason  for  doing  things.  He  was  perfectly  well 
aware  of  the  fact  that  she  knew  nothing  of  the  ar- 
rangement between  himself  and  her  father. 

He  gave  it  up.  The  fact  remained  that  Dick  was 
coming  and  that  was  good.  With  a  touch  of  unchar- 
acteristic excitement,  Thoresby  took  a  personal  in- 
terest in  the  luncheon.  He  went  around  into  Picca- 

250 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

dilly  and  bought  a  great  bundle  of  flowers,  hothouse 
roses,  mostly.  He  arranged  them  himself.  He  made 
the  dining  table  a  very  blaze  of  color,  and  then,  just 
before  she  came,  he  put  a  bunch  in  a  large  blue  bowl 
on  a  table  in  the  hall  to  give  her  welcome.  In  a  rather 
ridiculous  way  he  changed  his  tie  several  times  and 
endeavored  to  make  his  thin  gray  hair  a  little  less  gray 
by  putting  on  brilliantine.  He  laughed  at  himself, 
but  the  laugh  was  a  little  sour.  "Gee !"  he  said.  "I'm 
not  so  horrid  old.  Hang  it!  I'm  only  fifty.  With 
care  and  courage  I'm  good  for  twenty-three  years, 
twenty-three  highly  respectable,  jocular  years,  useful, 
exemplary  years.  Why  not?" 

The  bell  rang  several  times  and  each  time  he  jumped 
up,  and  when  Dick  arrived,  punctually,  for  a  wonder, 
he  felt  absurdly  boyish  and  nervous. 

Dick  was  charmingly  dressed  and  it  was  the  first 
time  since  she  had  come  to  those  rooms  that  he  had 
seen  her  face.  "Oh,  no!"  he  said  to  himself.  "Oh, 
no !  Impossible,  my  friend,  quite !" 

Dick  was  in  one  of  her  quiet  moods.  She  made 
no  attempt  to  be  good  company,  so  she  was  very  nat- 
ural. She  gave  no  imitations,  nor  did  she  force 
hilarity. 

"Awfully  nice  place  you've  got  here,  Bill,"  she  said. 
"I  hope  I  haven't  botched  up  any  of  your  engage- 
ments." 

"My  dear  kid,  this  is  an  honor." 

"Don't  pull  my  leg,"  said  Dick.  "I  vote  we  treat 
each  other  like  very  old  friends,  say  exactly  what  we 
mean  without  any  bluff  or  blither." 

251 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Right  you  are,"  said  Thoresby.  "I  should  like 
to."  It  was  a  very  serious  Dick  to-day,  an  unexpect- 
edly different  Dick.  "I  got  back  the  night  before  last. 
Went  over  to  have  a  look  at  the  trees  in  the  Bois." 

"I  know,"  said  Dick.  "I  wanted  to  be  the  first  of 
your  pals  to  look  you  up." 

"Is  that  true  ?"  asked  Thoresby  eagerly.  "I'm  sorry, 
but  you  said  that  we  were  to  treat  each  other  like  old 
friends,  didn't  you?" 

"Then  it  isn't  true,"  said  Dick.     "It's  a  lie." 

The  door  opened  and  the  man  appeared.  "Lunch- 
eon is  served,  my  lord,"  he  said. 

So  Dick  added :  "But  we'll  keep  all  this  till  after 
lunch." 

As  Thoresby  followed  her  into  the  dining-room  he 
asked  himself:  "All  what?"  and  continued  to  ask  him- 
self the  same  question  over  and  over  again  throughout 
the  meal. 

Dick  paid  him  compliments.  "This  beats  the  Ritz, 
old  boy,"  she  said.  "Quite  tweaky!  And,  by  Jove, 
don't  those  roses  sing." 

Thoresby  laughed.     "Sing?"  he  asked. 

"Why  not?"  said  Dick.  "All  flowers  sing.  Roses 
are  operatic.  There  used  to  be  a  tree  of  Tetrazzinis 
at  Quennor  that  always  woke  me  up  in  the  morning. 
I  wish  I  knew  Paris." 

"I'd  like  to  introduce  her  to  you." 

"You  may  have  the  chance,  soon,"  said  Dick. 

Thoresby  bent  forward.     "What  do  you  mean?" 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Dick.  "Where  are  we?  Quite 
early  in  the  courses.  Give  me  until  the  coffee  comes." 

252 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

After  that  Thoresby  ate  little.  He  listened  to  Dick. 
He  put  one  or  two  leading  questions  and  drew  her 
out  on  the  subject  of  theatricals.  She  said  several 
dry  sarcastic  things  about  them  and  in  the  way  she 
turned  her  phrases  she  reminded  him  curiously  of 
Drusilla.  She  was  a  wonderful  mixture  of  her  par- 
ents, a  sort  of  Bowdlerised  edition  of  both. 

"If  it's  all  the  same  to  you,"  said  Dick,  "I  think 
we'll  have  coffee  in  the  drawing-room." 

"Just  as  you  like.     Why?" 

"I  dunno.  I  think  the  drawing-room  will  give  me  a 
touch  of  dignity  which  I  shall  need." 

Thoresby  made  it  so.  He  carried  a  box  of  cigar- 
ettes in  with  him.  It  awoke  unpleasant  memories.  It 
was  the  one  which  Tony  wanted  to  throw  at  his  head. 
It  seemed  a  long  time  ago.  He  opened  it  and  held 
it  out  to  Dick. 

She  shook  her  head.  "I'm  not  smoking,  thanks," 
she  said.  "I'm  in  training  for  a  lady." 

Thoresby  was  unable  to  make  it  out.  This  was  not 
the  first  time  during  this  odd  hour  that  Dick  had  said 
things  enigmatically  that  made  him  jump.  "Where 
would  you  like  to  sit?"  he  asked. 

She  took  a  chair  with  an  uncompromising  back. 
"Bolt  upright,  here,"  she  said.  The  sun,  dodging  a 
stack  of  chimneys  which  looked  foolishly  like  the  pipes 
of  an  organ,  fell  upon  her  hair  and  shoulders.  She 
moved  into  its  caress.  The  sun  was  a  very  faithful 
friend,  rather  like  Jack. 

"You  don't  mind  my  smoking,"  said  Thoresby. 

"Oh,  please,"  said  Dick  and  laughed.     "There's  no 

253 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

doubt  about  it,  but  we're  in  very  high  society,  you 
and  I." 

Thoresby  remained  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
empty  grate.  He  wondered  what  on  earth  he  was 
smoking. 

And  then  Dick,  looking  up  at  him,  came  to  the  point. 
"Not  because  you've  been  very  kind  to  us,"  she  said, 
"or  for  any  other  reason  of  that  sort,  I'm  going  to 
ask  you  to  do  me  a  turn.  What  do  you  think  about 
it?" 

"There's  nothing  that  I  wouldn't  do  for  you,  Dick." 

"I  had  a  sort  of  notion  you  felt  like  that.  I  re- 
member your  face  that  Sunday  when  the  Black  Prince 
ran  me  down  to  Brighton." 

"I  could  have  murdered  the  brute,"  said  Thoresby. 
He  said  :  "I  love  you,  I  love  you,"  passionately  to  him- 
self. He  was  afraid  to  say  it  aloud. 

"Well,"  said  Dick.  "It's  like  this.  I'm  sick  of  the 
stage.  I'm  sick  of  restaurants  and  suppers.  I'm  sick 
of  Black  Princes  and  motor  cars  and  I'm  dead  sick 
of  putting  paint  on  my  face.  Would  you  like  me  to 
be  Lady  Thoresby?  If  so,  say  so.  If  it  doesn't  meet 
your  views,  say  so." 

"Dick !"  The  man  stood  very  still.  He  was  breath- 
less. 

"Well?"  she  said.  She  liked  him  for  his  economy 
of  words  and  actions. 

He  made  a  rather  pitiful  gesture.  "But  I'm  old, 
my  dear,"  he  said. 

"Not  so  very,"  said  Dick.     "Not  as  old  as  I  am." 

"Then,  too,  I've  been  on  the  long  trail." 

254 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"So  have  I,"  said  Dick.     "Is  it  yes?" 

"No,"  said  Thoresby.  "I'm— by  Jove,  I'm  funky! 
You've  been  put  up  to  this.  Someone's  coercing  you. 
You  never  would  have  asked  me  such  a  question  on 
your  own.  Dick,  be  honest  with  me.  I'll  tell  you  this 
very  straight.  I  love  you.  There's  enough  man  in 
me  left  for  that.  I'd  play  the  game,  by  you,  too.  You 
should  have  everything  you  wanted  and  as  little  of  me 
as  you  could  put  up  with.  But  I'm  not  going  to  have 
you  forced  upon  me." 

"Is  it  yes?"  asked  Dick.  "Quaint  how  we  Oke- 
hamptons  do  everything  the  wrong  way  'round." 

Thoresby  went  over  to  Dick  and  turned  her  face 
into  the  sun  and  looked  straightly  at  her.  "Be  hon- 
est with  me,  Dick,"  he  said  again.  "You  don't  quite 
know  what  this  means  to  me.  When  a  man  turns 
over  a  new  leaf  he's  rather  proud  of  the  fact.  Mine 
was  turned  over  for  me,  but  I'm  rather  proud  of  it 
all  the  same.  I'm  very  keen  to  keep  it  without  dog's 
ears.  Tell  me  this.  Is  your  mother  behind  all  this?" 

"Is  it  yes?"  asked  Dick. 

"I  see  that  she  is,"  said  Thoresby.  He  was  deeply 
disappointed. 

"Is  it  yes?"  asked  Dick.  "I'm  not  going  to  lie  to 
you,  but  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  the  truth.  That 
is,  I'm  not  going  to  tell  it  all.  All  I'll  say  is  pretty 
much  what  I've  said  before.  I'm  sick,  just  sick.  I 
want  to  be  Lady  Thoresby." 

"You  want  to  be?"    That  was  better  than  nothing. 

"Yes,  I  want  to  be.    Is  it  yes?" 

"Yes." 

255 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Thank  you,"  said  Dick.  She  held  out  her  hand 
and  shook  the  trembling  one  that  he  gave  her  like  a 
boy.  Then  she  laughed  and  took  a  cigarette  and  lit 
it.  "The  last,"  she  said,  "absolutely!  The  Earl  and 
Countess  of  Thoresby  are  shortly  leaving  town  for 
Paris  to  look  at  the  trees  in  the  Bois.  Lady  Thoresby 
is,  of  course,  the  Miss  Dick  Okehampton  whose  very 
gaucherie  proved  her  to  be  the  possessor  of  genius." 
Then  she  threw  her  cigarette  away  as  though  she  were 
throwing  away  the  whole  of  her  past.  "Let's  be  mar- 
ried quietly,  Bill,  and  slip  out  of  it  all.  Or  do  you 
want  a  splash?" 

"I  want  what  you  want,"  said  Thoresby.  His  voice 
broke  a  little.  "Dick,  my  dear,  I  hope  you'll  never 
regret  this.  I'm — by  Jove,  I'm  very  funky." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Dick.  "I  don't  know  much 
about  golf  or  tennis,  but  I  think  you'll  find  that  I 
know  the  rules  of  cricket.  How  goes  the  time?" 

"Half-past  two,"  said  Thoresby. 

"Is  it?  Then  I  must  go.  The  only  boy  of  all  the 
boys  I  know  who  will  be  in  the  set  of  Lord  and  Lady 
Thoresby  is  waiting  for  me  below.  Bye-bye."  She 
nodded  and  went  to  the  door,  hesitated  and  came  back. 

And  when  Thoresby  kissed  the  upturned  cheek  he 
did  so  as  Sir  Galahad  might  have  done. 

Gee !    How  the  broncho-busters  would  have  laughed ! 


256 


CHAPTER   VI 

IT  seemed  as  though  fate  were  in  league  with  Dru- 
silla.    The  woman  had  played  upon  all  that  was 
best  in  Dick's  loyal,  obstinate,  wild,  headstrong, 
unformed    nature.        For    the    sake    of    her    father 
and  mother  she  had  sacrificed  herself.    As  though  that 
were  not  enough,  Providence  put  her  in  the  way  of 
receiving  two  deep  wounds  that  day  and  in  this  way 
helped  Drusilla  to  her  next  abominable  move. 

The  faithful  Jack  grinned  gleefully  when  Dick  took 
her  seat  at  his  side.  He  had  been  home  to  lunch,  a 
rather  hurried  lunch.  His  mother  and  Dick  were  the 
only  two  women  in  the  world.  He  had  come  back 
with  a  nice  little  scheme  in  his  head.  His  mother 
knew  most  things.  She  knew  also  about  Dick.  He 
wanted  them  to  meet.  He  was  full  of  heart.  At  lunch 
he  had  repeated  Dick's  words  in  which  brother  had 
come.  The  dear  old  lady  had  smiled.  "All  proper 
women  say  that  to  the  man  they  eventually  marry," 
she  said,  "because  all  proper  women  love  their  brothers 
very  nearly  as  much  as  they  love  their  husbands." 
And  so  Jack  felt  thirty  years  younger,  although  he  was 
only  twenty-five.  What  a  thing  it  was  to  have  a 
mother ! 

He  turned  his  car  up  Piccadilly.  His  destination 
was  Eaton  Square. 

257 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Which  way?"  said  Dick. 

"My  way,"  said  Jack. 

"Right-o.     Go  ahead.    It's  all  the  same  to  me." 

"Had  a  pleasant  lunch?" 

"First  class.  Nothing  but  surprises.  Nearly  every- 
thing was  out  of  season." 

"Amusing  people?" 

"Person,"  said  Dick.     "Not  a  bit  amusing." 

"Oh,  Lord!"  said  Jack. 

"No.  I  was  glad  about  it.  He  was  the  biggest 
surprise  of  them  all." 

"Oh,  a  man,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  Dick,  "a  man."  She  underlined  the 
word  with  a  very  thick  stroke. 

Oddly  enough,  Jack  had  not  ever  felt  jealous  in  re- 
gard to  Dick.  He  did  not  feel  jealous  now.  Some- 
thing told  him,  although  he  had  never  made  a  study 
of  girls  and  their  feelings  and  their  odd  fumble  after 
the  truth,  that  Dick  was  the  same  with  every  other 
man  as  she  was  with  him.  He  felt,  and  he  was  very 
glad  to  feel,  that  she  was  utterly  heart-whole.  All 
he  did  know  was  that  he  was  in  it  ever  so  slightly. 
He  had  all  her  letters,  those  curious,  slangy  letters, 
alive  with  quick,  vivid  touches  and  full  of  a  glorious 
comradeship.  If  his  mother  was  right,  and  his  mother 
was  always  right,  then  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  wait. 
His  mother  had  called  Dick  a  child  and  him  a  boy. 

"Make  your  career  safe,"  she  said,  "before  you 
speak  and  then  do  not  take  no.  I  fancy  that  your 
Dick  will  make  a  very  proper  woman.  Let  me  see 
her." 

258 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

And  so  the  sun  for  Jack  was  twice  as  big  as  usual. 
There  were  just  two  things  that  he  meant  to  do. 
One  was  to  marry  Dick  and  the  other  was  to  be  an 
admiral,  and  both  looked  very  certain  that  bright 
afternoon. 

They  turned  off  at  Hyde  Park  Corner  and  ran 
through  the  labyrinth  of  houses,  which  were  nearly 
all  the  same,  ugly  smug  houses  to  the  eye,  but  ex- 
tremely comfortable.  Most  of  them  were  blushing 
beneath  the  paint  of  spring.  They  were  white  with 
that  optimism  which  recurs  in  spite  of  endless  rebuffs. 
Here  and  there  was  to  be  seen  a  more  cautious  color 
— the  chocolate  of  Pimlico. 

A  wedding  was  to  take  place  at  St.  Peter's,  Eaton 
Square.  The  awnings  were  out  and  the  red  carpet, 
over  which  so  many  feet  had  passed,  in  and  out  again, 
and  then  God  knows  where.  The  inevitable  crowd  of 
women  waited  patiently — a  curious  crowd,  made  up 
for  the  most  part  bf  married  women.  Perhaps  their 
curiosity  was  tinged  with  a  little  sarcasm,  or  does 
romance  never  die?  There  were  butcher  boys  there, 
too.  Dick  looked  at  all  these  people  and  at  the  awn- 
ing and  at  the  church  as  those  people  look  at  hearses 
who  have  followed  some  person  whom  they  love  to 
the  grave.  Dick  had  buried  romance. 

The  car  turned  to  the  right  and  then  the  left  and 
stopped  in  front  of  a  house  that  had  received  no  new 
paint  that  spring,  but  which,  for  all  that,  looked  very 
cheerful  with  its  flower  boxes  of  geraniums,  white 
and  red. 

"Hullo,"  said  Dick,  "what's  this?" 

259 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNIT* 

"This,"  said  Jack,  "is  me." 

Dick  smiled  and  got  out,  went  up  the  steps  to  the 
front  door,  which  opened  at  once,  as  though  she  had 
been  expected. 

Jack  followed  her  at  a  bound  and  nodded  to  an 
elderly  man  with  a  profusion  of  white  hair  and  a  face 
which  might  have  belonged  to  a  bishop.  The  hall  was 
full  of  trophies,  curious  old  guns  and  sabers,  long 
pistols  with  big  handles  and  crossed  lances  with  pen- 
nons hanging  limp.  There  was  an  oil  painting  on  the 
wall  of  a  man  in  military  uniform,  with  a  large  mus- 
tache and  side  whiskers  and  a  very  determined  chin. 
The  eyes  were  Jack's. 

"My  father." 
.    "I  know." 

The  boy  led  the  way  upstairs.  The  wall  was  cov- 
ered with  groups  of  officers  and  men  in  camp,  under 
barrack  walls — mementoes,  inspirations.  On  the  first 
landing  Jack  stopped,  tapped  at  the  door  and  waited 
until  a  soft  voice  said:  "Come  in." 

The  room  was  very  large  and  light  and  airy.  It 
was  filled  with  pieces  of  big  furniture.  There  was  a 
big  desk  and  a  large  pipe-rack  at  the  side  of  the  fire- 
place crammed  with  old  favorites  used  no  longer. 
There  were  bookcases  and  more  swords  on  the  walls, 
more  groups,  and  at  least  a  dozen  paintings  of  the 
same  woman,  some  young,  some  no  longer  young.  It 
was  a  man's  room. 

And  away  in  the  corner  sitting  in  a  man's  chair  was 
a  little  old  lady  behind  gold-rimmed  spectacles,  with 
her  feet  on  a  hassock,  with  two  big  black  cats  tnount- 

260 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

ing  guard.  One  of  them  rose  as  Jack  came  in  and 
elevated  a  tail,  mewing  silently. 

"Mother,"  said  Jack,  "this  is  Dick." 

The  little  old  lady  held  out  her  hand,  held  Dick's 
warmly  for  a  moment;  then  Dick  was  pulled  forward 
and  kissed  on  each  cheek. 

"You're  very  welcome,  my  dear." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Dick.  "What  jolly  cats !"  She 
bent  down  and  stroked  first  one  and  then  the  other 
so  that  there  should  be  no  cause  for  jealousy.  She 
felt  a  strange  feeling  that  she  knew  this  place  and  this 
little  old  lady  and  these  cats.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
she  had  been  there  before. 

The  little  old  lady  smiled.  "You  know  animals," 
she  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Jack,  "especially  rabbits  and  bumble- 
bees and  squirrels  and  beetles."  He  took  his  place  on 
the  hearth  rug,  putting  his  feet  unconsciously  where 
his  father's  feet  had  often  been.  They  fitted  the  places 
well,  and  he  looked  at  his  mother  and  Dick  and  beamed. 
It  was  a  great  day. 

Dick  found  a  chair  already  placed  for  her.  It  was 
close  to  the  man's  chair. 

"I  have  been  wondering  when  Jack  was  going  to 
bring  you/'  said  Lady  Euston. 

"Have  you  heard  of  me,  then?"  asked  Dick. 

"Once  or  twice,  my  dear." 

The  mother  glanced  at  her  son.  There  was  humor 
in  her  eye.  Jack's  letters,  all  of  which  she  kept,  had 
been  full  of  many  things,  but  mostly  of  Dick. 

The  sun  found  Dick  again.  This  time  he  did  not 
261 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

confine  himself  merely  to  her  ear  and  shoulder.     He 
seemed  to  feel  that  he  was  needed. 

Lady  Euston  was  very  tactful.  She  talked  weather 
and  events.  She  never  once  made  the  tactical  error 
of  talking  son.  She  talked  to  make  Dick  laugh  and 
liked  it.  She  talked  to  make  Dick  talk  and  liked 
that.  It  was  boy's  talk,  a  little  slangy  and  altogether 
free  from  affectation.  She  talked  to  hear  what  Dick 
thought  about  things  and  liked  her  views.  All  around 
she  was  very  satisfied.  Jack's  Dick  became  her  Dick, 
and  that  was  good. 

Tea  was  brought  up  and  there  were  muffins  and 
hot  buns,  jam,  much  bread  and  butter,  and  a  big  cut- 
and-come-again  cake.  With  it  also  there  was  laughter 
and  Jack's  continued  beam.  This  was  a  very  great 
day. 

The  cats  were  fed  and  asked  questions,  which  they 
answered  promptly.  They  were  amazingly  intelli- 
gent cats,  and  Dick  was  delighted  to  see  them  drink- 
ing out  of  the  same  saucer  and  playing  fair.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  room  and  the  house  had  had  its 
effect  even  upon  them.  People  who  keep  dogs  turn 
up  their  noses  at  cats.  They  don't  know. 

And  then  Jack  said :  "Have  a  look  at  my  room, 
Dick?" 

"Oh,"  said  Dick,  "so  you've  got  a  room,  have  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Euston,  "full  of  different  por- 
traits of  the  same  woman.  Go  and  see  it.  But  don't 
forget  to  come  back."  The  little  old  lady  put  on  her 
glasses  again  and  picked  up  her  book. 

"A  new  novel?"  asked  Dick. 
262 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"No,  my  dear.  At  my  age  one  no  longer  reads, 
one  re-reads."  The  book  was  older  than  herself  and 
was  handled  affectionately. 

Jack  led  the  way,  and  the  way  was  upstairs.  With 
an  air  of  paternal  pride,  he  opened  the  door  of  a  room 
which  overlooked  the  leads  and  a  corner  of  the  stables. 
It  was  not  a  large  room,  but  it  was  all  the  better  for 
that.  Dick  imagined  that  the  walls  were  papered.  It 
was  impossible  to  tell.  There  was  not  one  square  inch 
that  was  not  occupied  by  something  in  a  frame.  It  was 
a  quaint  gallery  which  told  off  the  years  of  Jack's  life 
with  the  closest  accuracy.  There  was  Jack  a  very  few 
feet  high  on  a  brick  among  others  of  the  same  height. 
These  were  the  days  of  the  dame  school.  There  was 
Jack  in  his  Osborne  days — a  sturdy  little  devil  he  was. 
Everywhere  there  was  Jack,  always  sturdy.  And  be- 
tween Jack,  the  various  Jacks,  there  were  the  various 
Lady  Hustons,  not  more  charming,  but  certainly  not 
less,  than  the  little  old  lady  who  sat  below  in  her  hus- 
band's room,  as  though  expecting  him  to  walk  in  at 
any  moment.  And  side  by  side  with  these  there  were 
photographs  and  caricatures  and  pen  and  pencil  sketches 
and  pictures  cut  from  newspapers  of  the  man  who 
would  never  return,  but  who  had  left  his  name  behind 
him  on  the  scroll.  The  Lord  knows  how  many  other 
things  there  were — pictures  of  ships,  photographs  of 
cricketers,  of  natives,  of  coast  lines,  of  the  Rock,  of 
the  ribs  of  ships,  of  A.  B.  at  play,  and  all  the  rest  of 
them,  duly  collected  and  preserved — milestones.  The 
carpet  was  warm  and  the  furniture  solid,  good,  honest 
stuff,  well  polished  and  well  preserved,  as  good  and 

263 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

honest  as  the  house  and  its  occupants  and  as  their 
record. 

Dick  examined  everything  and  laughed  and  chaffed, 
calling  for  explanations  and  making  criticisms. 

And  then  finally  she  caught  sight  of  a  clock.  "Oh, 
my  hat!"  she  cried.  "Look  at  the  time.  With  your 
permission,  I  appear  before  the  British  public  to-night, 
and  before  that  great  event  I'm  to  have  dinner  with 
mother.  Lead  the  way,  Horatio  Nelson."  She  had 
forced  Thoresby  out  of  her  mind  for  the  time  being. 
She  was  a  great  philosopher. 

They  went  downstairs. 

"Good-bye,"  said  Dick.    "May  I  come  again?" 

"Eaton  Square  is  yours,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Euston. 
"Jack,  see  this  dear  child  safely  home.  Drive  very 
carefully." 

Jack  obeyed  orders.  He  drove  far  too  carefully  for 
Dick.  She  still  laughed  and  chaffed  until  Jack  said : 
"Oh,  by  the  way,  I  was  seen  driving  to  those  chambers 
in  Piccadilly  to-day.  A  man  in  the  service  who  was 
at  the  club  lives  above  them." 

"How  very  interesting,"  said  Dick  sarcastically. 

"Yes,  but  it  is  rather  interesting.  At  least,  it's  in- 
teresting to  me.  It  turns  out  that  there's  another  feller 
living  there  who's  going  to  get  a  sound  thrashing  from 
my  brother  one  of  these  days.  They  met  in  America 
a  couple  of  years  ago  and  this  man,  one  of  the  cham- 
pion wasters  of  the  earth,  did  my  brother  out  of  a 
very  nice  sum  of  money.  I  suppose  he  called  it  busi- 
ness. The  real  word  is  cheating.  The  Gilbertian 
thing  about  it  all  is  that  he  is  now  a  peer." 

264 


THE   OUTPOST   OF   ETERNITY 

"Really?"  said  Dick.    "What's  his  name?1' 

"Thoresby." 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  in  this  little  pause  the 
car  drew  up  at  Park  Court.  But  Dick  didn't  move. 

"Lord  Thoresby,"  she  said,  "cheat  or  not,  is  my 
future  husband." 

Jack  laughed.  It  was  like  Dick  to  say  such  a  thing. 
She  adored  pulling  his  leg. 

"It's  no  laughing  matter,"  she  said. 

And  then  the  boy  looked  at  her  and  saw  that  her 
face  was  laughterless. 

"Good  God!"  he  cried.  "I  don't  believe  k.  You 
the  wife  of  Thoresby.  You!" 

"It's  got  to  be,"  said  Dick.  "Did  you  hear  that? 
Got  to  be." 

"I'd  rather  you  were  dead,"  said  the  boy.  "And  I 
wish  to  God  I'd  died  before  you  told  me." 

This  waa  the  first  wound. 


265 


CHAPTER    VII 

THE  second  wound  was  made  by  Tony. 
It  was  a  very  perfect  May  night.  Even  in 
that  fusty  back  alley,  prowled  along  by  night 
birds  ever  on  the  search,  there  was  something  of  the 
sweetness  of  the  young  summer.  With  his  hat  on  one 
side  and  his  cigar  between  his  teeth,  Tony  paced  the 
echoing  asphalt  outside  the  stage  door  of  the  London 
Theater.  He  came  in  time  to  see  the  theater  empty 
itself.  He  had  read  all  the  notices  of  the  new  play 
and  expected  that  all  London  would  be  pouring  out  at 
the  fall  of  the  curtain.  Instead,  he  saw  the  most 
curious  of  all  audiences — the  second  night  audience. 
The  beardless  boy,  usually  very  fat  and  something  over 
forty,  who  wrote  for  the  weekly  papers  over  his  sig- 
nature, carried  his  stick  into  the  crowd,  having  worn 
an  almost  fresh  pair  of  white  kid  gloves  during  the 
whole  performance.  If  he  could  find  someone  to  walk 
away  with  he  talked  about  values,  of  which  he  seemed 
to-  know  something,  and  of  what  was  wanted.  "If 
only,"  was  the  burden  of  his  song.  If  he  found  no 
one  to  whom  to  speak,  he  sauntered  to  the  nearest 
tube  station,  endeavoring  to  convey  the  impression 
that  he  was  a  man  of  independent  means,  and  his  head 
rang  with  the  beginnings  of  sentences,  and  all  the  way 

266 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

home  to  West  Kensington  he  chortled  excitedly  in  an- 
ticipation of  the  chaos  into  which  his  almost  unread 
article  would  throw  theatrical  beehives.  Among  the 
crows  were  the  company's  relatives,  full  of  small  criti- 
cisms as  to  clothes,  and  those  people  who  devoted  all 
their  lives  either  to  making  dresses,  wigs,  scenery,  prop- 
erties, or  upholstery  for  the  theater.  The  streets  of 
London  hardly  ever  saw  them  except  on  second  nights. 
The  men  wore  caps  or  bowler  hats  and  the  women 
shawls,  and  they  all  had  about  them  a  slight  air  of 
recklessness,  and  some  of  them  screamed  when  they 
crossed  the  streets,  but  only  in  fun.  To  Tony's  im- 
mense surprise  and  annoyance,  there  was  none  of  that 
loud  and  continued  shouting  as  the  theater  runners 
brought  up  huge  private  motor  cars  and  old-fashioned 
carriages  and  pairs.  There  were  no  tall,  languid 
women,  scantily  clad,  and  no  Ouidaesque  men  who 
yawned  and  moved  with  an  effort.  And  yet  all  the 
critics  had  agreed  that  the  new  play  was  a  master- 
piece. 

Rene  de  Maingauche  came  up,  nodded  to  Tony,  and 
asked  the  stage  doorkeeper  to  send  his  name  up  to  Miss 
Okehampton.  Sir  Edward  Morde  appeared,  evidently 
having  been  in  front,  for  he  still  wore  a  startled  look. 
He  also  nodded  to  Tony,  and  without  paying  the  small- 
est attention  to  the  Frenchman  sent  in  his  name.  And 
then  Thoresby  appeared  and  fell  into  step  with  Tony, 
and  in  a  nervous  and  wholly  uncharacteristic  way 
talked  about  the  weather  and  the  racing  and  the  Ital- 
ian-Turkish war.  They  were  like  bees  around  a  flower, 
all  greedy  for  honey. 

267 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

In  the  meantime,  the  young  actor-manager,  too 
young  to  know  the  value  of  theatrical  criticism,  had 
invited  Dick  to  a  supper  party  at  the  Savoy  to  cele- 
brate his  great  success,  and  had  promised  in  a  royal 
manner  to  drive  her  home  afterward.  He  was  very 
royal,  this  provincial. 

Dick  was  almost  the  first  of  the  company  to  pass 
the  stage  doorkeeper's  cubby  hole.  "Hullo,  B.  P.," 
she  said.  "Hullo,  Mordy."  She  divided  a  smile  be- 
tween them  and  made  her  way  into  the  alley.  "Oh, 
hullo,  Bill." 

The  Black  Prince  followed  her.  "I  thought  you'd 
like- 

Morde  touched  Dick's  elbow.  "It  would  give  me 
the  greatest  pleasure  to " 

"Don't  you  think/'  said  Thoresby,  "that  a  little  sup- 
per at  the " 

The  actor-manager's  man  hurried  out.  "Beg  par- 
don, miss,"  he  said,  "the  guvnor  wishes  to  know " 

Dick  took  Tony's  arm.  "So,  so  sorry,"  she  said. 
"I'm  engaged  to-night." 

Tony  waved  his  hand  and  walked  up  the  alley  on 
the  tips  of  his  toes,  with  his  hat  at  an  even  more  rak- 
ish angle  and  the  shoes,  which  he  had  polished  him- 
self, very  radiant  in  the  lamplight.  He  felt  like  an 
undergraduate  in  his  first  year  who  has  the  honor  to 
be  seen  talking  to  the  president  of  the  O.  U.  B.  C. 
B'Jove,  Dick  was  a  sportsman !  He  was  a  very  happy 
man. 

Not  quite  so  happy  when  he  sensed  the  fact  almost 
immediately  that  Dick  was  in  a  mood.  He  knew  it 

268 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

because  she  walked  very  quickly  and  as  though  she 
wanted  to  get  home.  He  was  glad  to  think  that  she 
wanted  to  get  home,  because  it  seemed  to  show  that 
she  was  not  quite  so  much  out  of  touch  with  the  state 
of  things  at  the  flat  as  usual.  But  he  was  sorry  that 
she  walked  quickly,  because  it  shortened  the  hour  to 
which  he  looked  forward  all  day. 

Jack's  involuntary  words  had  cut  very  deep.  She 
had  got  to  marry  Thoresby,  got  to.  She  knew  what 
she  was  doing.  She  had  heard  her  father,  during  the 
last  of  the  Ouennor  days,  gloating  over  Thoresby's 
masterly  wastefulness,  but  she  hated  Jack  for  having 
even  by  accident  thrown  one  of  the  Thoresby  incidents 
into  her  face.  All  the  same,  she  knew  that  Jack  was 
right.  She  knew  it  before  he  put  it  in  his  appallingly 
blunt  way.  It  irritated  her  to  be  told  what  she  already 
knew,  and,  in  any  case,  she  was  not  a  child.  She  was 
free  to  do  just  exactly  what  she  liked  or  precisely 
what  she  didn't  like,  as  the  case  may  be.  She  was 
going  to  do  it.  It  had  to  be  done.  The  least  said 
about  it  the  better. 

It  is  an  extraordinary  thing  how  often  a  bad  day 
is  made  worse  by  the  apparently  purposeful  piling  up 
of  big  and  little  irritations.  So  far  as  romance  was 
concerned,  Dick  owned  herself  a  failure.  The  word 
romance  did  not  occur  to  her.  She  never  used  it.  It 
is  the  sole  property  of  professional  wordmongers.  But 
the  vague  dream,  the  sort  of  comforting  idea  that  some- 
day, somewhere,  she  would  meet  the  man,  broke.  She 
was  marrying  Thoresby  solely  and  entirely  to  provide 
her  mother  and  father  with  things  to  eat  and  drink 

269 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

and  stand  up  in.  She  said  to  herself :  "There  it  is.  It's 
fixed.  Nothing  can  alter  it.  So  let's  forget  all  about 
it  as  long  as  we  can." 

It  was  hard  luck,  however,  that  the  stage  manager 
of  the  London  Theater,  the  only  man  in  it  for  whom 
she  had  any  respect,  should  have  chosen  that  night 
of  all  others  for  a  little  friendly  talk.  He  was  theater 
from  head  to  foot.  It  was  generally  said  that  he  had 
been  born  in  the  theater.  Without  any  doubt,  he 
would  die  in  it.  In  a  way,  he  had  genius,  but  he  was 
undersized  and  ugly  and  had  much  difficulty  with  his 
h's.  He  had  never  had  a  chance.  He  knew  no  one 
with  money.  But  for  the  exquisite  topsy-turvydom 
of  life  he  should  have  been  the  actor-manager,  and  for 
all  his  ugliness  that  charming  theater  would  have  at- 
tracted all  lovers  of  fine  acting.  As  it  was,  this  rapidly 
aging  little  man  who  had  played  on  the  sands,  on 
piers,  in  the  fit-ups,  in  the  smalls  of  Scotland,  in  the 
rank  melodramas,  in  the  cheap  theaters  over  the  water 
was  a  sycophant.  He  was  the  stage  manager  of  the 
London  Theater  at  a  very  small  salary  who,  because 
he  had  a  wife  and  a  large  family  in  a  little  house  near 
Camberwell  Green,  dared  not  say  what  he  thought  and 
dared  not  attempt  to  teach  the  actor-manager  how  to 
act.  But  he  told  the  truth  to  Dick,  because  he  liked 
her,  and  because  he  felt  that  there  was  a  bond  of  sym- 
pathy between  them.  Curious  reasons  these  for  telling 
the  truth.  The  truth  is  always  so  unpleasant. 

Dick  was  standing  in  the  wings.  She  had  just  come 
off  after  her  big  scene — that  is,  the  scene  in  which  the 
actor-manager  as  the  amorous  auctioneer  kissed  her  as 

270 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

the  typewriter  in  his  office.  Dealt  with  by  a  writer 
of  the  new  school,  this  quite  commonplace  incident  was 
elevated  into  one  of  very  filthy  significance.  The  stage 
manager  crept  up  and  whispered  in  Dick's  ear.  "All 
wrong,  my  dear.  Absolutely,  all  wrong.  You'll  never 
make  an  actress.  You  act.  Fatal.  You  discounted  all 
your  effects  by  being  conscious  of  having  them.  Can't 
you  get  some  rich  pal  to  put  you  in  a  shop,  sweetstuff 
or  millinery  ?  You're  wasting  your  time  'ere.  When 
our  young  friend  wakes  up  one  day  and  finds  that 
he's  lost  sixty  thousand  quid,  'e'll  drop  the  theater 
like  a  red-hot  potato  and  you'll  never  get  another  job. 
I'm  yer  friend,  dear.  That's  why  I  tell  yer  these 
things." 

Dick  had  been  enjoying  a  sort  of  exaltation.  "Be- 
neath her  very  gaucherie  she  proved  herself  to  be  the 
possessor  of  genius."  This  line  had  been  like  cham- 
pagne to  her.  "It's  ghastly,"  she  said,  "how  friendly 
friends  are,"  and  turned  away  full  of  bitterness  and 
very  sore. 

And  now  here  was  Tony  praising  her  performance 
in  one  breath,  and  wondering  whether  it  wouldn't  be 
better  if  she  did  this,  that  or  the  other  in  another. 

"Of  course,  I'm  no  judge,"  he  said,  "so  I  can't  help 
you  at  all,  but  somehow  your  scene  didn't  seem  to  go. 
I  wanted  to  hear  an  outburst  of  applause  when  you 
went  off.  As  it  was  people  laughed.  Isn't  there  any- 
one in  the  theater  to  put  you  right,  Dick,  old  boy?" 

"Oh,  I've  been  put  right  enough,"  said  Dick.  "The 
weasel  fastened  on  me  to-night.  He's  my  friend,  he 
is,  the  weasel.  I'm  just  as  useful  on  the  stage,  it  ap- 

271 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

pears,  as  all  the  other  girls  who  have  been  foisted 
into  parts  without  knowing  how  to  act.  Open  a  paper 
shop,  Tony,  for  racing  tips  and  let  me  sell  ginger  beer 
to  office  boys  and  little  clerks." 

Tony  laughed  and  tightened  his  affectionate  em- 
brace of  her  arm.  "You're  tired,  Dick,"  he  said.  "I 
don't  wonder.  No  one  could  have  played  the  part 
better  than  you  did,  my  dear,  except  an  actress.  No 
actor-manager's  fool  enough  to  engage  actresses,  so 
you're  all  right.  By  the  way,  what's  the  matter  with 
Thoresby?" 

"The  matter  f    What  should  be  the  matter  ?" 

"I  dunno,"  said  Tony.  "He  seemed  a  little  quaint, 
I  thought.  He  talked  like  a  professor  of  metaphysics 
and  never  caught  my  eye.  Something  on  his  mind, 
I  should  think." 

"There  is  something  on  his  mind,"  said  Dick.  "He's 
going  to  get  married." 

"What!— Bill?  No  fool  like  an  old  fool.  Did  he 
tell  yer  so?" 

"No,"  said  Dick,  "I  told  him." 

"Don't  see  it,"  said  Tony.    "What  is  it,  a  catch  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Dick,  "a  wonderful  catch  for  me." 

Tony  laughed.  He  didn't  know  why.  He  simply 
laughed  in  order  to  cheer  up  Dick.  It  really  didn't 
matter  at  all  to  him  whether  Thoresby  married  or  not. 
Let  him  marry.  It  wouldn't  make  any  difference  to 
Tony. 

"You'll  have  to  give  the  bride  away,  Tony,  so  pol- 
ish up  your  hat,  old  boy.  My  daughter,  the  Countess 
of  Thoresby,  you  know.  Do  you  a  bit  of  good,  what  ?" 

272 


THE   OUTPOST   OF   ETERNITY 

Tony  gave  a  sort  of  stagger  and  stopped.  "Do  you 
mean  that  you — you " 

Dick  cursed  herself  for  not  having  been  able  to  re- 
sist this  indulgence  of  wounded  ego.  "Oh,  come  on," 
she  said,  "come  on,"  trying  to  turn  the  matter  off. 

But  Tony's  mind  went  back  to  the  last  night  at 
Quennor.  He  refused  to  go  on.  "Dick,"  he  said, 
"what  is  this  ?  You've  got  to  tell  me.  What  have 
you  done?" 

Dick  could  see  that  his  face  looked  very  old  and 
white.  There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes  which  she  couldn't 
understand.  She  gave  an  airy  gesture.  "I've  done 
just  what  any  other  girl  would  have  done  in  my  place 
and  what  tons  of  others  would  be  jolly  glad  to  have 
the  chance  to  do.  Another  actress  marries  a  peer.  It's 
great !  I  shall  have  my  photograph  in  the  Daily  Mail." 

"Oh,  my  God !"  said  Tony.  "Why  doesn't  someone 
strike  me  dead?"  He  said  nothing  more.  He  didn't 
seem  able  to  put  any  further  words  together. 

He  stood  staring,  with  his  mouth  open. 

So  Dick  hailed  a  taxicab  and  helped  him  into  it  and 
drove  him  to  Brewer  Street,  and  gave  him  brandy 
and  then  hurried  away.  Words  were  coming  back  to 
him,  and  she  had  already  heard  enough  for  one  day, 
at  any  rate. 


273 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE  day  was  over,  but  the  gods  still  pursued 
Dick.  They  had  pursued  Tony  in  the  same 
way  just  as  soon  as  he  came  under  the  in- 
fluence of  Drusilla.  To  call  them  gods,  therefore,  is 
to  use  an  altogether  wrong  word.  Devils  is  the  one. 

All  the  lights  were  burning  in  the  flat.  A  trunk  and 
a  dressing-case  were  in  the  hall.  A  green  dump  hat 
was  lying  on  the  floor  and  a  yellow  overcoat  lined 
with  blue.  Dick  heard  talking  going  on  in  Tony's  old 
room,  and  when  she  went  into  the  passage  which  led 
to  it  she  saw  her  mother  gliding  away,  with  her  dry 
hair  all  loose.  She  wondered  why,  uneasily.  She  had 
not  discovered  the  fact  that  one  of  her  mother's  chief 
joys  in  life  was  eavesdropping. 

In  the  morning-room  she  found  Harry.  No  one 
would  have  believed  that  she  was  an  English  girl. 
She  might  have  been  Spanish  with  a  touch  of  tar 
brush.  She  was  lying  on  a  settee  in  an  attitude  of 
utter  carelessness.  She  had  green  stockings.  She  had 
evidently  been  enjoying  herself.  For  once  there  was 
a  smile  upon  her  reddened  lips  and  she  was  talking 
vividly.  A  very  young,  soft-looking,  slightly  vacuous 
man  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fireplace.  His 
clothes  were  pretty  and  he  had  wonderful  hair,  of 

274 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

which  he  was  inordinately  proud.  It  was  so  fair  as 
almost  to  be  white  and  was  full  of  thick,  irrepressible 
kinks.  He  could  not  have  been  more  than  twenty- 
two.  He  was  a  stranger  to  Dick. 

"What  cheer,  Dick !"  said  Harry.  "Looked  for  you 
just  now  and  thought  you  were  on  the  tiles." 

"I  was  rather  late  at  the  theater  to-night,"  said 
Dick. 

"Wonder  of  wonders!  You  still  messin'  about 
among  all  those  people  with  sheep's  heads  ?  Ever  met 
an  actress,  Kinky  ?  My  sister — Lord  Kimblestone." 

The  boy's  hand  went  up  nervously  to  his  very  beau- 
tiful tie.  "Oh,  how  de  do?"  he  said. 

"How  de  do?"  said  Dick. 

"We've  just  come  back  from  a  short  stay  at  Monte 
Carlo." 

The  boy  blushed  violently.  "Er,  yes,"  he  said,  "but 
we  won't  go  into  that.  How  interesting  that  you're 
on  the  stage,"  he  added  to  Dick. 

Harry  simply  screamed.  "Look  at  Kinky!"  she 
cried.  "Look  at  him!  It's  his  first  trip.  You  can 
see  that  plain  enough.  Isn't  he  a  fresher?" 

"Oh,  please,  don't,"  said  Kimblestone.  "I  don't  like 
it.  Besides,  your  sister." 

"Don't  mind  me,"  said  Dick. 

Harry  was  in  contortions  and  became  even  more 
careless. 

The  boy  dropped  his  cigarette  into  the  fireplace. 
"Well,  if  you'll  excuse  me,"  he  said.  "I — good-bye." 
He  bowed  to  Dick  and  then  went  over  to  the  settee 
and  touched  Harry  on  the  arm.  "Good-bye,  Harry," 

275 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

he  said  awkwardly.  "Thank  you,  very  much.  I 
mean " 

He  got  violently  red  again,  looked  as  though  he 
were  in  a  panic,  turned  and  fled.  Dick  went  to  see 
him  out  and  found  him  in  his  startling  overcoat  and 
green  velvet  hat,  trying  to  open  the  front  door.  She 
opened  it  for  him  and  he  bowed  again  and  disappeared. 

Harry's  laughter  rang  through  the  place. 

Dick  went  to  her  room  and  shut  the  door.  She  was 
in  no  mood  for  Harry.  But  long  before  she  had 
begun  to  undress  Harry  came  in  and  threw  herself  on 
the  bed. 

"No  tender  words  of  welcome  for  your  loving  sister 
to-night,  then,"  she  said. 

"I'm  rather  tired,  Harry." 

The  other  girl  grinned  a  little  unpleasantly.  "Yes, 
but  that  doesn't  prevent  your  putting  on  frills  with 
me." 

"I  don't  mean  to,"  said  Dick. 

"Well,  let  me  give  you  a  tip.  Just  manage  in  the 
future  to  give  me  and  my  pals  a  less  straight  upper 
lip  whenever  we  show  up  here.  We  don't  trouble  you 
much." 

There  was  no  fight  in  Dick.  She  felt  that  she  had 
been  knocked  out ;  so  she  was  silent. 

This  silence  seemed  to  rankle  in  Harry's  queer  mind. 
She  sat  up  and  eyed  Dick  sneeringly.  "The  difference 
between  you  and  me,"  she  said,  "is  that  I'm  honest 
and  you're  hypocritical.  You  pose  as  a  sort  of  vestal 
virgin,  and  I  don't  care  two  curses  what  people  say 
or  think.  All  the  same,  don't  you  imagine  that  you're 

276 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

not  talked  about,  because  you  are.  Oh,  there  are  some 
jolly  stories  about  you,  Godiva.  Very  jolly!  The 
old  man's  darling,  I've  heard  you  called,  and  the  Black 
Princess.  I  suppose  you'll  say  that  you're  married  to 
one  of  them  secretly  so  as  to  be  able  to  buck  and  put 
me  down  one." 

"Look  here,"  said  Dick.  "You  can  go.  I'm  fed  up. 
Completely  fed  up.  I  advise  you  to  get  out,  pretty 
quick." 

Harry  picked  up  one  of  Dick's  hats  and  jerked  a 
feather  out.  If  there  had  been  a  cat  handy,  she  would 
have  pulled  its  tail  in  the  same  way.  "Your  tone," 
she  said,  "is  offensive.  Do  you  run  this  place?  Is 
your  dirty  little  salary  paying  the  whack?  Bah!  You 
make  me  tired.  This  is  my  show.  If  I  choose  to  come 
into  your  room  or  anybody  else's  room,  I  jolly  well 
will.  They've  never  polluted  your  ears,  I  suppose,  with 
the  true  story?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  said  Dick. 
"But  if  this  is  your  show  and  you  find  me  so  offensive, 
you  won't  have  me  here  much  longer." 

"Oh?  Really?"  said  Harry.  "Are  you  stepping 
off  your  pedestal  at  last?" 

"No,"  said  Dick.  "I'm  only  going  to  get  married, 
that's  all." 

"Married?  What  a  scream!  Swanky  to  the  last, 
eh?  Never  thought  you'd  turn  out  like  this.  Can't 
have  an  angel  face  for  nothing,  I  suppose.  Who's  the 
joker?" 

Dick  thought  she  heard  someone  outside  the  door. 
What  did  it  matter?  "Thoresby,"  she  said. 

277 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Harry  sprang  to  her  feet.  "My  eye!"  she  said. 
"That's  ripe.  The  second  Mrs.  Thoresby.  What  ho! 
Going  one  better  than  sister  Harry,  then,  eh  ?  You've 
fixed  the  gentleman,  then,  whereas  I  only  had  him  on 
a  little  bit  of  string.  Ton  my  word !  This  is  the  joke 
of  the  century.  To  round  the  whole  thing  off,  I  think 
I'd  better  be  a  bridesmaid." 

Dick  gazed  at  her  open-eyed.  "I  don't  know — what 
you're  talking  about,"  she  said. 

"Well,  then,  you're  missing  the  joke,  aren't  you? 
Who  do  you  think  ran  me  in  the  West  End  after 
Quennor?  Who  d'you  think  paid  for  my  hats  and 
frocks  and  all  the  rest  of  it  when  you  were  at  Syden- 
ham  ?  Why  was  Tony  able  to  take  this  place  and  fur- 
nish it  and  pay  cash  for  his  spats?  Blackmail,  my 
child.  Little  Harry  is  the  benefactor.  Dear  little 
Harry." 

The  door  opened  and  Drusilla  came  in.  Her  face 
was  distorted  with  rage.  She  was  not  pleasant  to 
look  at. 

"You  liar!"  she  said  to  Harry.  "You  liar!"  She 
turned  to  Dick.  "Don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  What 
I  told  you  was  the  truth.  I  always  tell  the  truth. 
You,  as  Lady  Thoresby,  will  be  the  benefactor.  It 
will  be  you  to  whom  your  father  and  I  will  look 
for  some  sort  of  comfort  in  our  declining  years.  My 
darling,  what  am  I  to  say  to  you  ?"  She  went  forward 
with  outstretched  arms. 

Dick  put  up  her  hand.  "Stay  where  you  are.  Don't 
touch  me!"  she  said.  "It  was  a  trick,  a  very  dirty 
trick." 

278 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

With  her  nostrils  distended  and  breathing  quickly 
as  though  she  had  been  running,  she  got  back  into 
her  coat  and  hat,  went  out  of  the  room  and  out  of  the 
flat,  ran  downstairs  into  the  dimly-lighted  hall,  opened 
the  front  door,  slammed  it  behind  her,  and  ran  down 
the  street  until  she  came  to  a  taxicab. 

"Eaton  Square,"  she  said.     "Quickly!     Quickly!" 


279 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DICK  ran  from  her  people.  She  fled  precipi- 
tately as  people  fly  from  an  appalling  stench. 
She  went  to  Eaton  Square  in  the  same  spirit 
as  that  of  a  fox  which  runs  panting  into  a  church. 
She,  too,  felt  that  she  was  being  hunted.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  her  loyalty  for  her  father  and 
mother  gave  way  before  the  sudden  proofs  of  their 
depravity.  She  believed  Harry's  version  of  the  story. 
She  knew  Harry.  She  remembered  her  father  com- 
ing to  Half  Moon  Street.  A  hundred  small  things 
unnoticed  at  the  time  were  now  understood.  She 
never  bothered  herself  to  go  into  details.  She  ac- 
cepted things  in  the  true  slipshod  manner  of  the  Oke- 
hamptons,  and  when  Tony  had  told  her  after  his  escape 
from  the  flat  that  he  was  going  to  pay  his  wife  eight 
pounds  a  week  and  keep  two,  it  didn't  occur  to  her 
to  ask  him  where  the  money  was  coming  from.  He 
had  it  and  that  was  enough.  She  now  saw  that  it 
was  Thoresby's  money,  that  it  was  Harry's  flat,  and 
that  even  her  father's  rooms  in  Brewer  Street  were 
due  to  Harry. 

So  she  had  been  tricked.     All  the  pathos  and  trag- 
edy of  her  mother's  confession  were  false.    The  whole 

280 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

thing  was  a  trick.  Her  mother  wanted  her  to  marry 
Thoresby  as  a  sort  of  insurance  for  herself,  or  else 
in  order  that  she  might  have  the  laugh  of  Harry. 
Dick's  mind  was  in  too  chaotic  a  state  to  come  to 
any  decision.  The  only  thing  that  came  out  very 
clearly,  with  the  most  icy  clearness,  was  that  her 
mother  was  no  mother,  that  Harry  was  vile,  and  that 
even  Tony  hadn't  the  decency  to  be  honest  with  her. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  Thoresby  was  the  only  respec- 
table person  of  them  all.  He,  at  least,  had  had  the 
grace  to  hesitate.  Jack  had  wished  her  dead.  Tony 
had  wished  himself  dead.  It  seemed  that  death  was 
the  only  thing  that  could  put  her  into  some  sort  of 
comfort. 

If  she  had  found  any  lights  in  the  windows  of  the 
house  in  Eaton  Square,  she  would  have  knocked,  gone 
up  to  the  large  airy  room  and  crept  into  the  arms 
of  the  little  old  lady.  But  the  house  was  in  darkness. 
Poor  Dick  paid  off  the  cab  and  sat  for  what  appeared 
to  be  an  hour  on  the  doorstep,  with  her  head  against 
the  door.  A  policeman  passed,  but  she  was  hidden  in 
the  shadow  of  the  early  Victorian  portico,  and  it  was 
during  this  long  doubting  hour,  with  the  feeling  upon 
her  that  her  friends  were  cut  off,  that  her  mind  grew 
less  chaotic  and  she  saw  things  baldly,  unemotionally. 
In  the  middle  of  them  stood  Tony,  poor  old  Tony,  the 
man  who  had  never  grown  into  a  man,  and  who  had 
been  made  more  childish  than  ever  by  trouble.  She 
saw  well  enough  that  he,  at  any  rate,  depended  utterly 
on  her  for  his  spotless  clothes,  his  white  spats,  his 
shiny  hat,  his  club,  his  tidy  rooms  and  all  the  other 

281 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

little  toys  which  now  meant  so  much  to  him.  At  any 
moment  Thoresby  might  go  away  and  cut  off  the  al- 
lowance. Would  Harry  contribute?  No.  Could  she 
ever  hope  to  earn  enough  money  on  the  stage  to  give 
her  mother  a  roof  and  keep  Tony  among  his  play- 
things? She  had  been  told  the  truth  about  that,  and 
so  the  answer  was  no.  It  became  clearer  and  clearer 
to  her  that,  although  her  mother  had  tricked  her  and 
her  father  had  not  been  honest  and  Harry  owed  Lon- 
don to  Thoresby,  this  man  Thoresby  was  to  her  what 
the  actor-manager  was  to  the  poor  little  stage  man- 
ager— the  means  of  livelihood.  She  was  one  of  the 
numerous  sycophants  of  the  earth.  She  was  obliged 
to  marry  Thoresby.  There  seemed  to  be  no  way  out 
of  it. 

She  got  up,  pressed  her  lips  to  the  door  of  the 
house  of  the  little  old  lady  and  went  down  the  steps 
into  the  street. 

"All  right  then,"  she  said  to  herself.  "Here  goes. 
I'm  to  be  the  second  Mrs.  Thoresby,  am  I  ?  Right  you 
are.  But  they  shan't  have  it  all  their  own  way,  any 
of  them.  I'll  see  to  that." 

She  did  not  walk  in  the  direction  of  Knightsbridge. 
She  lilted  along  with  a  sort  of  devil-may-care  until 
she  came  to  Hyde  Park  Corner.  Once  before  she  had 
tramped  this  place  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  Then 
it  was  to  escape  from  law  and  order  and  now  from 
anarchy.  She  hailed  a  prowling  taxicab  which  was 
still  optimistic.  "Bury  Street,"  she  said,  "like  the 
devil." 

She  had  had  enough  of  cricket  for  the  moment. 
282 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

There  were  other  games.  She  was  sick  of  all  the 
sordid  intrigue  which  surrounded  her.  She  needed 
amusement.  Rene  de  Maingauche  was  an  artist  in 
amusement  and  his  day  began  in  the  middle  of  the 
night. 

She  found  him  out.  A  yawning  man-servant  told 
her  that  he  was  at  a  fancy  dress  ball  at  Covent  Gar- 
den arranged  in  aid  of  distressed  Irish  gentlewomen. 
He  gave  Dick  her  first  laugh. 

"All  right,"  she  said,  "I'll  wait,"  and  it  was  in  an 
atmosphere  that  would  have  been  congenial  to  Dru- 
silla,  among  the  foul  creatures  of  Beardsley's  diseased 
imagination,  that  Dick  revised  her  plans  and  changed 
her  mood,  smoking  like  a  factory  chimney. 

Rene  found  her  lying  on  a  sofa.  Her  fingers  were 
all  stained  with  nicotine  and  her  eyes  tired  and  reck- 
less. He  was  dressed  as  a  French  Pierrot,  his  short 
jacket,  much  waisted,  and  his  knickerbockers  and 
stockings  and  limp  cloak  were  silk,  dead  white,  with 
broad  red  stripes.  A  white  skull  cap  fitted  closely  to 
his  head.  No  hair  could  be  seen  and  his  face  was 
plastered  with  white  grease  paint,  with  red  lips,  a  dab 
of  red  in  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  and  eyebrows  marked 
out  above  his  own,  which  were  temporarily  removed 
by  the  paint.  He  looked  the  incarnation  of  Beardsley- 
ism.  He  was  dangerously  sober  on  champagne  and 
was  in  the  mood  for  Hell  or  Heaven.  It  all  de- 
pended on  his  companion.  He  found  that  Dick  was 
in  favor  of  the  former  place,  and  gave  thanks  ac- 
cordingly. 

"Wash  yourself,"  she  said.  "Telephone  for  the  car 
283 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

— your  chauffeur  will  only  just  have  got  in — and 
let's  go." 

"Where?"  asked  Rene,  stripping  off  his  skull  cap 
and  pitching  it  away. 

"To  little  old  man  devil,"  said  Dick. 


284 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  curtain  of  the  London  Theater  rose  at  half- 
past  eight.  There  was,  according  to  the  sys- 
tem, no  one-act  play.  The  curtain  fell  at  a 
few  minutes  to  eleven,  according  to  the  system,  and 
there  were  two  waits  of  from  ten  to  fifteen  minutes 
each,  also  according  to  the  system.  Within  a  stone's 
throw  of  the  London  Theater  there  were  four  very 
comfortable,  very  brilliantly  lighted  variety  theaters 
which  had  large  and  efficient  orchestras.  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt  was  at  one  of  them,  Yvette  Guilbert  at  another, 
Mascagni  at  a  third,  and  all  of  them  began  at  eight 
o'clock  precisely  and  did  not  finish  until  twenty-five 
minutes  past  eleven,  and  at  all  of  them  an  admirable 
seat  could  be  obtained  for  two  shillings.  There  were 
many  other  theaters  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Lon- 
don, all  blindly  following  the  system,  nearly  all,  neces- 
sarily, full  of  deadheads — according  to  the  system. 

At  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  the  day  upon 
which  Dick  and  Rene  de  Maingauche  left  London  be- 
hind them  in  a  mad  motor  the  stage  manager  of  the 
London  Theater  began  to  get  nervous.  There  was 
no  Dick  and,  according  to  the  system,  her  understudy 
had  never  rehearsed  the  part. 

Mr.  Edwin  Wilkes  first  consulted  the  stage  door- 
285 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

keeper.  "Have  you  ever  known  Miss  Okehampton 
as  late  as  this?"  he  asked. 

"Wot?  Miss  Okehampton?  Don't  you  get  jumpy 
yet,  gov'ner.  It's  all  right.  In  the  last  piece  she  was 
on  at  twenty  to  nine  and  never  thought  of  getting  'ere 
before  eight-thirty-two.  Didn't  you  know  that?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Wilkes,  who  was  the  stage  manager. 
"But  it's  different  now.  Why,  damn  it !  she's  playing 
the  lead — the  so-called  lead.  A  nice  mess  up  if  she 
let's  us  down." 

"I'll  ring  her  up,"  said  the  stage  doorkeeper. 

"Ah,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Wilkes.  He  rubbed  his 
nervous  hands  together.  This  was  a  matter  of  bread 
and  butter  to  him. 

The  servant  of  Park  Court  answered  the  telephone. 

"Is  Miss  Okehampton  there? — Yes,  Miss  Dick — 
what's  that  ? — not  been  there  all  day  ?  Gord  bless  me ! 
— Well,  where  can  I  find  her? — You  see  she  ought  to 
be  makin'  up  now.  We  go  up  in  'arf  an  hour." 

"Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!"  said  Mr.  Wilkes,  shocked 
out  of  his  complete  repertory.  "Go  on!  Press  it. 
Press  it.  She  must  know  something." 

" — Yes,  I  know,  miss.  Should  think  it  is  serious! 
—What?  Yus?  Yus.  That's  it.  Ask  her  mother 
to  ring  up  'round  about.  I  shall  be  'ere  all  the  time." 
He  rang  off. 

Mr.  Wilkes'  hands  were  wet.  He  went  out  into  the 
alley  and  peered.  The  theater  doors  had  been  opened 
and  a  few  experimentally  minded  people  had  gone  in. 

The  stage  doorkeeper  joined  him.  "  'Owever,"  he 
said,  "don't  you  worry,  sir.  She's  a  knockout,  that 

286 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Miss  Okehampton.  We've  done  two  shows,  you  see, 
and  she'll  know  'er  times  to  a  second.  If  I  don't  stand 
clear  of  these  'ere  doors  about  eight-twenty — well, 
there  may  be  a  widder  at  'ome.  Talk  about  tropical 
cyclones!" 

It  was  cheery  hearing,  but  the  actor-manager  had 
already  begun  to  realize  that  the  brilliant  notices  had 
not  caused  any  pleasant  excitement  in  his  box-office. 
He  had  already  begun  to  treat  Mr.  Wilkes  as  though 
he  were  a  dog.  He  remained  in  the  alley,  watch  in 
hand. 

In  and  out  of  the  theater  beehive  passed  stage  hands, 
wig  people,  dressers,  understudies  and  small  part  peo- 
ple. But  there  was  no  Dick. 

A  chauffeur  in  livery  handed  an  armful  of  roses  to 
the  stage  doorkeeper.  "Miss  Okehampton,"  he  said, 
"with  Lord  Thoresby's  comps." 

"Eight-ten,"  said  Mr.  Wilkes. 

A  boy  messenger  whistling  "Yiddle  and  His  Fiddle" 
brought  a  letter  from  the  Savoy  Hotel.  "Miss  Oke- 
hampton," he  said,  "no  answer."  It  was  a  pleading 
note  from  Sir  Edward  Morde. 

The  stage  doorkeeper  murdered  the  time  for  five 
minutes.  Little  Wilkes  was  jumpy,  and  no  wonder. 
The  stage  doorkeeper  was  a  kind  man. 

"Eight-fifteen,"  said  Mr.  Wilkes.  "If  there's  a 
God " 

A  fat  woman  without  a  hat,  dressed  in  respectable 
black,  suddenly  called  out  to  the  stage  doorkeeper 
shrilly.  "'Ere,  what  about  Miss  Okehampton,  eh? 
Gawd  love  us!  And  me  far  from  well."  She  panted 

287 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

heavily  and  seemed  to  be  on  the  verge  of  hysterics. 

The  doorkeeper  could  no  longer  remain  calm. 
"Now,  look  'ere,"  he  said,  "in  cases  of  emergency  it 
isn't  for  you  to  'ave  nerves.  Get  back  to  your  room 
and  'old  up  'er  frock  for  'er  all  ready.  Go  on  nar! 
Off  it!" 

"Eight-twenty,"  said  Mr.  Wilkes,  "and  the  rent  due 
in  June." 

A  telegraph  boy  came  slowly  around  the  corner.  He 
sauntered  up  to  the  stage  door.  "Wilkes,"  he  said. 

"Give  it  here,"  said  Mr.  Wilkes.  He  opened  the 
freshly  closed  envelope  with  a  hand  that  trembled  vio- 
lently. He  read  his  sentence  to  poverty.  He  knew 
the  actor-manager. 

Dear  old  Wilky  most  awfully  sorry  impossible  get  up 
fill  part  chucking  footlights. — Dick. 

With  this,  for  which  surely  he  could  not  be  held 
responsible,  he  went  to  the  actor-manager's  very 
charming  dressing-room.  It  would  be  cruel  as  well  as 
unwise  to  follow  him  into  it. 

At  half-past  nine  Jack  came  up,  a  new  Jack,  a  Jack 
with  a  very  straight  face,  but  with  determination 
stamped  upon  it.  "Take  this  note  to  Miss  Okehamp- 
ton,  will  you,  please?"  he  said. 

"Now,  there  you  are,"  said  the  stage  doorkeeper. 
"Flowers  for  Miss  Okehampton.  Note  from  the  Savoy 
Hotel  for  Miss  Okehampton,  and  a  little  epistle  from 
you  for  Miss  Okehampton.  And  no  Miss  Okehamp- 
ton." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Jack. 

288 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"If  I  were  sayin'  what  I  didn't  mean,  no  one  would 
be  more  thankful.  It's  put  the  kybosh  on  us,  I  can 
tell  yer!  Third  night  and  all!  My  word,  if  them  as 
comes  to  see  the  plays  from  the  front  could  see  'arf 
the  dramas  that's  enacted  behind ! — -Better  played,  too, 
some  of  'em." 

"Come  to  the  point,"  said  Jack. 

The  stage  doorkeeper  looked  up.  He  was  an  old 
soldier.  There  was  something  of  the  parade  in  Jack's 
voice.  "Miss  Okehampton  not  forthcoming,  sir,"  he 
said. 

"An  accident?" 

"No,  sir." 

"What  then?" 

"Can't  say  more  than  this.  A  wire  came  from  the 
young  lady  at  eight-twenty-seven,  Greenwich  time.  I 
didn't  see  the  context,  but  I  see  Mr.  Wilkes'  face,  and 
since  then  I've  'ad  a  word  or  two  with  the  gov'nor's 
dresser,  who  was  present." 

"Go  on,"  said  Jack. 

"I'm  trying  to  convey  to  you,  sir,  that  Miss  Oke- 
hampton 'as  given  us  the  toss  and  in  so  doing  'as 
carted  us  proper.  No  fortnight's  notice.  No  atten- 
tion to  rules  and  regulations,  and,  what's  more,  no 
understudy  prepared  to  take  'er  place." 

"I  can't  believe  it,"  said  Jack. 

"No,  sir.  Nor  yet  can  I!  But,  like  many  things 
that  you  can't  believe,  there  it  is,  as  the  saying  goes. 
And  all  you  can  do  is  to  make  the  best  of  it.  We've 
made  the  best  of  it  by  putting  on  the  understudy  with 
the  book.  Mr.  Wilkes — you  don't  know  our  Mr. 

289 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Wilkes,  do  yer?  Well,  sir,  poor  little  Wilkes  is 
drownin'  'isself  in  a  quick  succession  of  double  whis- 
kies. It's  a  'ard  life  and  there's  no  place  as  I  knows 
of  as'll  insure  yer  against  it." 

Jack  left  the  stage  door,  but  not  the  alley.  For 
half  an  hour  he  walked  up  and  down  with  his  hands 
behind  his  back.  He  saw  stage  hands  come  out  and 
heard  them  talking.  "Miss  Okehampton — Miss  Oke- 
hampton." 

All  the  same  he  went  back  to  the  stage  door  and 
looked  the  fat  man  straight  in  the  face.  "Is  this 
true?" 

"If  I  never  speak  another  word  on " 

Jack  was  at  the  top  of  the  alley  and  into  a  taxicab 
before  it  gives  ordinary  people  proper  time  to  say 
Jack  Robinson.  He  drove  to  his  club  and  went  into 
the  telephone  box,  found  Antony  Okehampton  in  the 
book  and  asked  for  his  number. 

He  was  answered  by  Harry  and  heard  himself 
called  Horatio  Nelson.  No,  she  knew  nothing.  That 
is,  she  knew  nothing  definitely.  The  maid  had  been 
rung  up  by  the  theater  and  later  she,  Harry,  had 
spoken  to  the  stage  doorkeeper.  It  was  perfectly  true 
that  a  telegram  had  been  received  from  Dick  resign- 
ing the  part.  It  happened  that  Kinky — Lord  Kimble- 
stone,  you  know — kept  his  motor  in  the  same  garage 
as  the  Black  Prince — "Rene  de  Maingauche,  if  you  re- 
member." His  man  told  Kinky's  man  that  he  had 
taken  his  master's  car  around  to  Bury  Street  at  four 
in  the  morning,  and  that  the  young  lady  who  went 
away  in  it  looked  very  much  like  Miss  Dick  Okehamp- 

290 


THE    OUTPOST    OF   ETERNITY 

ton.  Small  world,  isn't  it,  Horatio?  Harry  would 
like  to  know  where  Horatio  lived.  She  would  send 
him  any  further  bulletins. 

Jack  rang  off.  On  top  of  her  engagement  to 
Thoresby  one  man  told  another  that  the  young  lady 
who  went  away  in  the  motor  of  that  poisonous  little 
scoundrel,  half  Frenchman,  half  nigger,  looked  like 
Miss  Dick  Okehampton — Dick,  his  Dick,  because,  of 
course,  she  would  never  have  been  Thoresby's  Dick 
or  anybody  else's  Dick.  He  would  have  seen  to  that. 
He  left  the  club  again,  hailed  the  first  taxi,  got  into 
it,  and  said :  "Drive  to " 

Where?  Where  was  he  to  drive?  Dick  was  not 
at  home,  not  at  the  theater.  Not  only  all  London,  but 
all  England,  seemed  to  stare  him  in  the  face.  Drive 
where  ? 

He  gave  the  man  a  shilling,  left  his  cab  and  went 
back  to  the  club.  He  sat  down  in  the  smoking-room, 
pulled  himself  together  with  a  supreme  effort  and 
began  to  put  himself  through  a  series  of  searching 
questions,  to  none  of  which  was  he  able  to  find  any 
answer. 

There  were  several  men  in  the  room,  men  who  had 
dined  and  who  could  find  no  attraction  elsewhere. 
Among  them  was  Gerald  Arbuckle.  This  was  the  man 
who  had  lowered  his  right  eyelid  at  Jack  yesterday 
afternoon.  He  came  up.  He  was  a  well-meaning 
enough  person  on  the  whole,  but  he  made  his  mistakes. 

"Oh,  hullo!"  he  said.  "You  don't  use  this  place 
much,  do  you  ?" 

"No." 

291 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

'Bit  Georgian,  isn't  it?" 

"Is  it?" 

"Don't  you  think  so?" 

"No." 

"Oh,  well,  let's  talk  about  the  weather." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I'm  not  in  the  mood  for 
talking." 

"Oh,  right.  Then  I'll  take  it  on.  I'm  an  excellent 
monologist.  Oh,  by  the  way,  have  you  heard  that 
Charlie  Stancourt,  who  was  with  us  at  Osborne,  has 
chucked  the  navy — or  that,  properly  speaking,  the 
navy  has  chucked  him?  Silly  ass,  he  went  and  mar- 
ried a  girl  in  the  fourth  line  at  the  Gaiety.  Mar- 
ried, you  know!  Think  of  it.  So  unimaginative. 
You  and  I  find  attractions  on  the  stage,  of  course. 
Why  not?  I  have  the  honor  of  presenting  bon-bons 
to  a  really  topping  little  bit  of  fluff  who  shows  her 
teeth  in  a  musical  comedy,  and,  by  Jove,  I  envied  you 
yesterday  when  I  saw  you  wheeling  Dick  Okehampton 
'round  the  town.  I've  been  endeavoring  to  get  an  in- 
troduction to  her  for  a  long  time.  She's  generally 
said  to  be  quite  the  most  cayenne  pepper  pot  we've 
got.  How  did  you  manage  to  get  her  away  from 
that  Franco-Indian?  He's  been  running  her  to  the 
exclusion  even  of  old  Morde  for  quite  a  considerable 
time.  They  call  her  the  Princess  at  Doddy's." 

Jack  got  up,  let  out  a  true  and  splendid  left  with 
all  his  weight  behind  it  and  dropped  the  excellent 
monologist  full  stretch  upon  the  floor.  It  was  good. 

Members  came  up  and  waiters.  It  was  an  alto- 
gether unheard-of  thing.  With  his  hands  in  his 

292 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

pockets  and  a  most  almighty  rage  in  his  heart,  Jack 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  fireplace  until  the  man  with 
the  interesting  tongue  was  picked  up  and  brought  back 
to  a  sore  and  surprised  consciousness. 

"You  will  apologize,  of  course,"  said  a  man. 

"I  have  nothing  to  add,"  said  Jack.  "Make  your 
complaint  to  the  committee  and  I'll  pick  out  one  of 
the  other  clubs  to  which  that  damned  lying  little  dog 
doesn't  happen  to  belong.  Good-night." 

And  again  Jack  went  into  the  streets. 

One  man  had  told  another  that  the  young  lady  in 
the  car  looked  like  Miss  Dick  Okehampton.  And  the 
car  was  driven  by  the  Franco-Indian,  the  Black  Prince, 
Rene  de  Maingauche. 

Perhaps,  then,  Dick  would  be  more  grateful  to  him 
if  he  didn't  find  her.  And  with  that  hideous  thought 
in  his  brain,  that  inconceivable  feeling  of  doubt  eating 
into  his  mind  like  a  maggot,  Jack  plunged  like  a  drunk- 
ard into  the  crowd.  Not  intentionally  he  found  him- 
self at  last  in  Eaton  Square,  but  not  to  go  up  to  his 
mother's  room.  There  were  things  on  his  lips  about 
men  and  women,  himself  and  Dick,  that  would  hurt 
her  too  much  to  hear.  But  he  went  into  the  house 
and  crept  up  to  his  own  room,  crept  out  again,  went 
around  to  the  old-fashioned  stabling,  ran  his  car  out, 
and  as  he  drove  away  there  was  something  in  his 
pocket  which  might  break  a  heart 


293 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  following  morning  at  eight  o'clock  a  power- 
ful and  excellent  car  was  driven  into  the 
garage  of  the  Union  Hotel,  Leamington.  It 
was  white  with  dust.  It  was  as  dusty  as  the  boot  of 
a  careless  tramp.  The  driver  and  his  companion, 
both  in  thick  overcoats,  were  as  dusty  as  the  car.  The 
girl's  golden  hair  was  white  and  so  were  her  eye- 
lashes. In  her  hand  she  swung  a  small  hat,  which 
looked  like  a  little  basket  as  she  got  stiffly  out,  laugh- 
ing a  little,  and  shaking  herself.  The  man,  whose 
temples  were  white,  banged  his  cap  on  his  knee.  The 
rest  of  his  hair  was  black  as  the  back  of  a  raven. 

"A  topping  run,"  said  Dick.  "Nothing  would 
make  me  stop  now  except  petrol  and  hunger." 

"Hunger!"  said  Rene.  "One  ought  to  invent  a 
new  word  for  it.  I'm  prepared  to  give  anyone  a  fiver 
for  a  pot  of  hot  coffee.  I  mean  coffee." 

Dick  looked  at  the  hotel.  So  far  as  the  servants 
were  concerned,  it  was  all  alive.  She  sized  the  place 
up.  "A  seven  and  sixpenny  bed  and  breakfast  touch 
this,  I  fancy,"  she  said.  "Don't  be  reckless  with  rivers. 
We  may  want  them." 

Rene  went  around  the  car  and  up  to  her,  standing 
close.  "Tu  m'ereintes  les  entrailles!" 

294 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Er — thank  you  very  much/'  said  Dick,  "the  same 
to  you.  One  of  these  days  when  I  know  French  I'll 
tip  you  a  stave  or  two.  Eggs,  I  think.  About  six, 
what?  And  warm  bread.  Make  it  so,  B.  P.,  will 
you?" 

"I'll  take  rooms,"  said  the  Frenchman. 

Dick  touched  him  on  the  arm.  "Just  one  moment, 
cockie,"  she  said.  "The  following  are  the  orders  for 
the  day." 

"Orders?    Sapristi!" 

"I  said  orders,  oh,  my  heart.  Having  breakfasted 
and  done  themselves  well,  the  flying  column  will  then 
re-car  themselves,  and,  having  laid  in  as  much  petrol 
as  they  can  carry,  will  tear  the  roads  up,  with  small 
intervals  for  eating,  until  they  reach  the  sea,  any  old 
sea.  They  will  then  cross  that  sea  and  go  on  tearing 
up  roads  ad  lib  till  further  orders,  and  when  petrol 
is  no  longer  to  be  obtained  they  will  try  eau  de 
Cologne,  ginger  beer,  or  Bass's  ale.  What  price  a 
wash?" 

The  Frenchman  laughed,  gleefully.  He  was  very 
good-looking.  "All  right,  then,"  he  said.  "Let's  meet 
in  the  coffee-room  as  soon  as  may  be." 

And  when  presently,  with  hair  now  altogether  black 
and  without  his  overcoat,  he  found  the  coffee-room, 
after  maneuvering  with  dust  pans  and  brushes  and 
curious-eyed  cleaners,  Dick  was  standing  at  the  win- 
dow beating  a  devil's  tattoo  upon  its  sill. 

"What  is  this  place?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  there  you  have  me!"  said  the  Frenchman. 
"I'll  ask." 

295 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"No,  don't,"  said  Dick.  "It's  rather  a  joke  not  to 
know.  It's  England,  at  any  rate.  Look  at  that  table- 
cloth." 

Having  rolled  down  his  shirt  sleeves  and  slipped 
into  his  coat  behind  a  screen,  a  waiter  came  forward. 
"You  vish " 

"Quite  right,"  said  Dick,  "and  add  to  that  coffee, 
lots  of  it,  and  a  dozen  eggs,  not  too  floppy,  and  see 
that  the  bread's  warm."  She  turned  to  the  French- 
man. "How  do  you  say,  buck  up,  you  little  blighter, 
in  Swiss?" 

Rene  surprised  the  waiter  with  these  words:  "Re 
les  pattes,  sacre  petit  con,  ou  je  vous  rends  ennugue 
d'wn  seul  coup!" 

The  waiter  gasped  and  backed  away.  c'0ui,  oui, 
mossieu!  de  ce  pas!"  He  ran  from  the  room.  It 
was  good  to  hear  his  language  spoken  so  fluently,  but 
just  as  well,  perhaps,  to  put  some  distance  between 
himself  and  one  who  was  evidently  a  surgeon. 

Dick's  hair  was  golden  again  and  her  eyelashes 
dark.  "I  feel  years  younger,  already,"  she  said.  "The 
air  has  swept  away  all  the  reek  of  London." 

The  Frenchman  stood  with  his  back  to  the  window 
and  toyed  with  a  button  on  Dick's  coat.  "Tell  me, 
what  is  all  this?  From  what  are  we  running  away? 
Or,  would  you  rather  not?" 

"I'd  rather  not,  thank  you,"  said  Dick,  shortly.  "As 
a  matter  of  fact,  I  don't  intend  to  remember  that 
there  is  such  a  place  as  London  on  the  map  until  I 
have  to  go  back." 

"Ah!  you  have  to  go  back?" 
296 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"Well,  what  do  you  think?" 

"How  can  I  think?  You  do  not  give  me  a  cue. 
You  ask  me,  I  say  forget  London,  always.  There  is 
Paris.  There  are  Vienna,  St.  Petersburg,  Venice, 
Oporto,  Buenos  Aires " 

"I  don't  know  when  I  go  back,"  said  Dick,  "but 
when  I  do  it's  to  hear  Mendelssohn's  Wedding  March. 
That's  all  for  the  present." 

The  Frenchman's  fingers  closed  upon  the  button. 
"You  are  to  be  married,"  he  said.  He  whistled  softly 
and  nodded  several  times.  "I  see.  Oh,  yes,  I  see. 
The  last  fling,  eh?  If  it  is  Morde,  I  can  understand. 
Not  Morde?  Who,  then?  You  are  not  saying. 
Good.  It  does  not  matter.  It  was  kind  of  you  to 
think  of  me.  I  will  see  that  your  fling  is  one  to  which 
you  will  look  back  with  the  eye  of  an  artist.  It  is 
good  work  for  me." 

"I  intend  to  put  in  the  time  of  my  life,"  said  Dick 
grimly.  "Look  at  your  Swiss.  He's  laying  the  table 
like  a  conjuror.  If  we  don't  watch  it,  he'll  be  throw- 
ing up  a  knife,  a  fork  and  a  chair.  He's  exactly  like 
that  man  at  the  Palace." 

"Every  man  in  England  and  every  man  in  Switzer- 
land is  alike,"  said  Rene.  "It  is  their  native  music 
which  does  its  work  in  their  youth." 

An  hour  later,  in  a  car  which  some  unimaginative 
person  had  cleaned  to  admiration,  the  breakfasters 
returned  to  the  road. 

"The  orders  are?" 

"Any  old  sea,"  said  Dick.    "Let  her  go." 

********* 
297 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Another  stop  was  made  about  one  o'clock.  The 
car  was  hot  when  it  drew  up  in  front  of  an  hotel.  A 
superb  sun  had  blazed  on  it  as  it  had  gone  singing 
along  the  winding,  dead-white  roads.  The  clerk  of 
the  weather  was  in  what  may  be  called  an  Okehamp- 
ton  mood.  After  an  April  of  icy  winds  and  down- 
pours of  hail,  he  had  turned  on  almost  tropical 
weather.  There  had  been  no  rain  for  a  fortnight. 
The  earth  was  in  hard  lumps  and  cracks  everywhere. 
Farmers  who  had  complained  bitterly  of  the  wet  com- 
plained more  bitterly  of  the  dry.  It  is  as  difficult 
'to  find  an  uncomplaining  farmer  as  a  pearl  in  an  oyster 
shell.  The  roads  through  which  Dick  and  the  French- 
man rushed  just  for  the  joy  of  movement  were  full 
of  very  grateful  men  and  women — the  men  and  women 
who  seem  mysteriously  to  disappear  in  the  winter 
and  to  come  forth  at  the  first  touch  of  sun  to  get 
brown  to  the  tips  of  their  ears,  to  sit  in  hedges  and 
patch  their  tatters  and  doctor  their  boots  and  cast 
glances  of  quiet  amusement  and  pity  upon  farm  laborers 
and  those  of  their  foolish  brethren  who  worked. 
They  and  the  swallows  appear  together  and  disappear 
at  the  same  time. 

Dick's  wounded  soul  was  not  yet  healed  sufficiently 
to  let  her  take  any  joy  in  birds  and  trees.  She  urged 
the  Frenchman  on  and  had  only  one  desire — to  get 
away,  to  leave  everything  and  everyone  behind  her, 
to  go  forward  quickly,  it  didn't  matter  where. 

Very  little  talking  was  done  by  these  two.  The 
Frenchman  had  a  passion  for  Dick,  but  a  deep-seated 
love  for  himself.  Added  to  these,  he  was  a  most  ad- 

298 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

mirable  driver.  He  went,  but  he  went  with  his  eyes 
open  and  paid  attention  to  warnings. 

Once  again  two  dusty  figures  got  out  of  the 
car  and  stretched  their  legs  and  blinked  at  each 
other. 

"What  do  you  think?"  asked  Dick.  "I'm  all  for 
something  thoroughly  English  and  chunky.  Roast 
beef  and  Yorkshire  pudding,  potatoes  in  their  jackets, 
something  suety  to  follow,  all  over  currants,  a  hunk 
of  bread  and  cheese  and  an  almighty  pot  of  beer. 
That's  me,  B.  P." 

"H'm !  I  wish  that  I  felt  strong  enough  for  it.  It 
might  not  kill  me,  but  it  would  certainly  give  me  an 
incurable  disease — a  corporation  on  the  brain  or  some- 
thing. I  think  I  will  run  the  car  'round  to  the 
garage." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  we  may  stop  here,  perhaps." 

"What  do  you  mean,  stop?" 

"Remain,  put  up,  stay  for  the  night." 

"Wh-at!  Here?  Where's  the  sea?  \Vhere's  the 
steamship  to  take  us  across  ?  Where's  anything  ?  My 
dear  B.  P.,  I  hope  you've  not  fallen  into  the  sere  and 
yellow?" 

The  look  that  the  Frenchman  used  as  he  ran  his 
eyes  over  Dick  was  not  that  of  an  old  man.  "Why? 
What  is  it?" 

"Well,  it's  a  rotten  memory,  yours.  Must  I  repeat 
the  orders  of  the  day?  The  flying  column  halts  just 
long  enough  to  restoke  and  then  on!  On,  Macduff, 
and  damned  be  he  who  first  cries  hold!  Enough!" 

200 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

She  struck  an  attitude.  How  extraordinarily  she  re- 
sembled Tony  at  that  moment,  Tony,  the  undergrad- 
uate! 

The  Frenchman  shrugged.  "I  am  yours,"  he  said. 
"Do  what  you  will.  My  turn  comes  later." 

So  the  car  was  left  on  the  gravel  drive  outside  the 
hotel,  a  rather  smart  hotel,  with  a  line  of  miniature 
trees  in  tubs  and  a  blaze  of  geraniums  in  white  tubs 
with  brass  handles.  Neither  Dick  nor  Rene  troubled 
to  ask  its  name  or  the  name  of  the  place. 

The  dining-room  was  cool,  airy  and  civilized.  There 
were  several  men,  unmistakably  infantry  officers,  hav- 
ing lunch.  They  all  stared  at  Dick  as  she  entered,  but 
said  nothing  until  they  saw  her  companion,  when  they 
laughed,  and  an  imperceptible  change  took  place  in 
their  expressions. 

Dick  had  her  roast  beef  and  Yorkshire  pudding  and 
the  rest  of  it.  The  Frenchman  pottered  with  a  chicken, 
amazed  to  find  himself  so  excited.  There  was  to  be 
no  recurrence  of  the  Brighton  episode.  Once  was 
quite  enough  of  that  sort  of  thing.  But  his  curiosity 
was  all  alive.  To  marry!  Whom?  He  was  unable 
to  keep  himself  away  from  the  subject. 

"Try  this  beer,"  said  Dick.  "It's  quite  it."  She 
held  out  the  bottle. 

"For  Heaven's  sake!"  cried  the  Frenchman.  He 
snatched  away  his  glass.  "Tell  me,"  he  said,  "who 
is  it?" 

"Bass,"  said  Dick.  "I  hate  beer  as  a  rule,  and  I 
would  generally  run  a  mile  to  leave  beef  well  behind 
me.  To-day  they're  right,  just  as  you  are." 

300 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"And  you  would  usually  run  a  mile  away  from 
me?" 

"No.  Put  it  down  at  a  hundred  yards.  One  has 
one's  day  for  you,  B.  P.  Jolly  good  thing  it  doesn't 
come  too  often.  Forgive  my  engaging  frankness., 
won't  you?" 

"I'll  forgive  you  everything,"  said  the  Frenchman, 
"so  long  as  I  have  my  day."  He  touched  her  ringers 
expertly  when  handing  her  the  potatoes. 

She  smiled  at  him.  "You're  very  good-looking," 
she  said,  "and  really  a  bit  of  a  knight,  but  may  I  offer 
you  one  other  piece  of  criticism?" 

"Please." 

"Be  a  little  more  cheery,  B.  P.,  a  little  less  full  of 
quotations  from  songs,  English  drawing-room  songs. 
They  don't  go  well  with  dust  and  daylight.  Do  you 
take  me?" 

The  Frenchman  bowed  and  showed  his  teeth.  He 
was  incredibly  amenable.  He  was  almost  as  syco- 
phantic as  little  Mr.  Wilkes.  And  for  the  rest  of  the 
meal  he  made  phrases  about  everything  and  applied 
a  well-manipulated  lash  to  people  and  institutions.  He 
kept  Dick  in  constant  laughter.  And  then  coffee  came. 

"In  the  sun,"  said  Dick,  "I  think  I'm  going  to 
smoke  a  cigar." 

"Oh,  no,  no!" 

"I'm  doing  everything  differently  to-day,"  said  Dick. 
"You  know  cigars.  Let  me  have  one  that's  fit  for  you 
to  smoke." 

To  the  horrified  amazement  of  two  or  three  local 
ladies,  of  the  bureau  clerk  and  a  flyman  sitting  hunch- 

301 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

ily  on  his  box — taking  care  not  to  lay  his  hand  upon 
his  hot  roof — Dick  went  solidly  through  a  thin  Corona 
and  enjoyed  it.  "You  see,"  she  said  very  quietly,  "this 
is  the  end.  I  suppose  I  feel  rather  like  a  person  who's 
going  to  commit  suicide.  It  amuses  me  to  take  risks. 
One  has  a  sort  of  feeling  that  it  doesn't  matter.  Hey, 
ho!"  She  stretched  herself  and  yawned  widely. 
"Poor  little  old  devil  Wilkes,"  she  said.  "I  hope  I 
shall  have  enough  ready  to  run  to  a  small  pension  for 
him.  He's  out,  if  I  know  anything." 

"Wilkes?    Who  is  that?" 

"Doesn't  matter,"  said  Dick.  She  got  up.  "The 
column  will  now  advance.  Up  you  get,  B.  P.  No 
slacking!" 

With  his  hand  on  the  throttle,  the  Frenchman  turned 
to  Dick.  "Who  is  he?"  he  asked. 

"The  Lord  of  Thoresby,  an'  it  pleases  you." 

"Crenom — Now,  I  see.  How  wise  of  you,  my  dear 
Dick,  to  provide  yourself  with  a  beautiful  memory  to 
take  with  you  into  the  winter." 

"Very,  very  hot!"  said  Dick.     "Very  hot." 


The  sea  seemed  to  have  dried  up.  The  sun  had 
gone  down  behind  a  blurred  blue  line.  The  sky  he 
left  behind  was  slit  like  the  sleeve  of  a  doublet  and 
patched  with  red  and  gold. 

"Keep  on  going,"  said  Dick. 

She  stopped  and  sniffed  and  put  her  hand  to  her  ear. 

"Well?"  asked  the  Frenchman. 

"What  rot!"  said  Dick.  "We  seem  to  have  missed 
302 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

it.  According  to  geographies,  you  only  have  to  go 
far  enough  straight  ahead  to  find  sea  somewhere. 
Can't  make  it  out.  You  must  have  been  jolly  care- 
less, B.  P." 

"Quite  right,  quite  right,"  said  Rene.  "Put  it  down 
to  me.  One  of  these  days,  as  you  see,  I  shall  make 
a  model  husband.  However,  say  the  word,  and  if 
there's  another  night  to  go  through  on  the  road,  very 
well." 

"I  can't  stand  injured  people,"  said  Dick.  "Pull 
up.  No  little  old  men  martyrs  for  me,  thanks."  She 
hailed  a  passer-by.  "Hi !  Is  there  a  decent  hotel  any- 
where about  here?  Straight  on  into  the  High  Street, 
second  large  building  on  the  left.  First's  the  post- 
office." 

They  found  it.  It  was  not  a  very  large  building, 
but  it  was  well  enough.  The  Frenchman  thanked  his 
gods  for  it.  He  did  not  wish  to  see  a  motor  car  again 
for  a  month. 

"Do  we  stay  here,"  he  asked. 

"You're  beginning  to  ask  superfluous  questions, 
Prince — or  am  I  tired?  Sorry.  I  find  I'm  tired." 

There  was  a  marvelous  smile  on  the  Frenchman's 
face  as  he  put  in  to  the  garage  over  the  cobblestones 
over  which  had  once  clattered  the  hoofs  of  stagecoach 

horses.    All  the  old  stalls  were  empty. 

********* 

Dick,  with  gleaming  hair,  stood  in  front  of  an  oleo- 
graph of  the  late  Queen  Victoria.  It  hung  over  the 
mantelpiece,  the  tasseled  mantelpiece,  between  a  photo- 
gravure of  a  line  of  chubby  children  on  a  gate  and  a 

303 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

photograph  of  the  lake  district.  Several  incandescent 
lights  were  burning  blazingly — one  of  them  with  a  sort 
of  song.  A  round  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
was  covered  with  a  bilious  tablecloth,  and  there  was 
a  horsehair  sofa  under  the  window,  very  hard  and 
prickly.  The  chairs  were  arranged  as  though  for  a 
Bible  meeting,  stiffly,  along  the  wall,  and  beneath  the 
window  the  incessant  tong  of  electric  tram  cars  dis- 
turbed the  night. 

A  little  mountain  of  cigarette  ends  was  piled  in  a 
saucer.  Dick  lit  another.  A  very  musical  old  clock 
somewhere  near  told  all  its  people  that  it  was  only 
an  hour  before  bedtime.  A  cool  air  came  into  the 
room.  Somewhere  down  below  there  was  intermittent 
laughter  and  a  swing  door  opened  and  shut  often. 
When  it  opened  a  click  could  be  heard  as  though  some- 
thing hard  were  hitting  something  else  that  was  hard. 
Sometimes  there  was  a  double  click.  A  man  some- 
where in  the  street  was  playing  a  tin  whistle  abom- 
inably with  that  peculiar  note  of  sentimentality  which 
belongs  to  music  halls.  He  must  have  been  an  old 
soldier.  People  were  passing,  most  of  them  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  slowly,  saying  very  little.  The 
raucous  voice  of  a  man  outside  a  moving  picture  pal- 
ace shattered  the  air  incessantly. 

Dick  hated  the  place  and  the  hotel  and  the  noises. 
She  had  wanted  the  sea.  There  is  a  moment  in  the 
lives  of  all  women  when  the  sea  becomes  painfully 
necessary.  She  hated  this  pause.  She  had  begun  to 
hate  herself.  It  was  all  intensely  irritating.  She  had 
known  that  this  feeling  would  come  sooner  or  later, 

3°4 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

and  that's  why  she  wanted  to  keep  going  on  and  on 
at  top  speed,  passing  things  without  being  able  to 
examine  them,  doing  the  next  best  thing  to  flying. 
Even  Rene  had  begun  to  irritate,  and  once  he  really 
did  irritate  she  might  as  well  go  back. 

She  turned  to  him  as  he  came  in.  "You've  been 
away  an  hour,"  she  said.  "Why?  Where?  What 
do  you  mean  by  it?" 

The  Frenchman  had  left  her  alone  on  purpose.  He 
had  thought  it  out.  "You  were  beginning  to  bore 
me  a  little,  my  child,"  he  said.  "I  have  been  in  the 
garage,  finding  solace  with  an  industrious  but  sloppy 
cleaner." 

Dick  laughed.  This  was  exactly  what  he  wanted 
to  bring  about.  "You're  really  rather  attractive,"  she 
said,  "in  a  sort  of  way.  Any  suggestions  to  make? 
Is  there  a  music  hall  in  this  place?  There's  a  billiard 
table  downstairs.  No.  Scratch  it." 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  done.  We  are  in  the  prov- 
inces of  England.  In  a  moment  or  two  lights  will 
go  out  and  lethargic  life  will  begin  to  flicker  like  a 
cheap  candle." 

"Very  lively,"  said  Dick.  "  Ton  my  soul !  There 
is  the  last  resource." 

"What  is  that?" 

"Sleep." 

Rene  crossed  the  room  and  opened  the  door.  It 
was  a  bedroom.  An  incandescent  light  burned  whitely 
over  a  dressing  table.  There  were  brushes  upon  it 
with  large  silver  initials.  There  was  a  bottle  of  hair 
tonic.  An  empty  shirt  case  was  on  a  chair. 

305 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Dick  strode  across  the  room  like  a  boy  and  put  her 
head  around  the  corner  of  the  door.  "Why  is  it  that 
these  rooms  always  suggest  Sunday?  Scrupulously 
fuggy,"  she  said. 

Rene  did  not  wish  to  appear  too  eager.  He  was 
playing  upon  a  difficult  instrument.  "And  yet  the 
window  is  open,  I  think,"  he  said. 

"My  dear  feller,  the  fug  of  this  place  is  at  least 
three  layers  thick  on  the  walls.  They  paste  on  a  new 
layer  every  spring.  Well,  there  it  is — I  notice  that 
you've  provided  yourself  with  everything,  Your  High- 
ness. How  do  you  say  in  French,  as  for  me  I  stand 
up  in  all  that  I  have  ?" 

The  Frenchman  laughed.  "Do  not  let  us  waste 
time,"  he  said. 

"Oblige  me  by  saying  it.  No,  don't  say  it.  Oh, 
Lord,  I'm  getting  bored.  I'm  getting  fed  up.  Damn ! 
Do  you  know  what'll  happen  if  you  don't  amuse  me  in 
about  ten  shakes?" 

"What?" 

"Out'll  come  the  car  and  back  we  shall  go  to 
London." 

It  was  difficult  to  be  amusing  under  the  circum- 
stances. What  was  he  to  do  with  this  erratic  child — 
this  child  who  was  in  his  blood! 

"I'm  going  to  bed,"  he  said.  "You  can  go  back  to 
London  if  you  like." 

He  went  into  the  bedroom  and  shut  the  door. 

In  an  instant  his  ear  was  at  the  keyhole.  Would 
she  go?  Dared  he  treat  her  like  that?  C'renomf  He 
had  read  descriptions  of  salmon  fishing.  How  easy 

306 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

in  comparison — there  was  no  sound.  No  one  left  the 
room.  He  undressed,  flinging  his  clothes  into  a  chair 
pell-mell  and  then  stood  in  a  suit  of  light  blue  silk 
pajamas  and  did  his  hair  over  and  over  again.  Well, 
he  was  always  searching  for  new  experiences.  Per- 
haps Dick  was  a  little  too  new.  He  told  himself  that 
if  he  asked  her,  ordered  her,  besought  her,  she  would 
laugh  in  his  face.  Very  well.  He  would  pretend  not 
to  need  her,  to  care  nothing.  She  was  not  in  a  mood 
for  loneliness.  She  would  follow. 

But  no  one  knew  Dick.  Not  even  Dick.  She  had 
left  London  on  the  top  of  an  impulse.  She  gave  no 
thought  then  and  just  as  little  thought  now  to  the 
Frenchman.  He  had  fitted  her  mood  and  she  had 
taken  him.  There  it  began  and  ended. 

"Touchy !"  she  said.     "Very  touchy !" 

She  looked  about  the  room  for  an  inspiration.  It 
was  a  queer  place  from  which  to  obtain  inspirations. 
She  saw  a  book,  a  bulky,  solemn-looking  book  stand- 
ing alone  upon  an  occasional  table.  She  opened  it. 
It  was  a  Bible.  "By  Jove,"  she  said,  "a  Bible!  I 
wonder  what " 

She  picked  it  up,  twisted  an  armchair  into  a  con- 
venient place,  sat  down,  put  her  toe  under  another 
chair,  pulled  it  nearer  and  put  her  feet  on  it.  She 
had  never  read  the  Bible  and  had  never  listened  when 
it  was  read.  The  Prince  could  go  and  hang  himself. 

********* 

That  man  in  the  room  alone  paced  up  and  down 
like  a  sort  of  tiger.  He  heard  eleven  strike  and  twelve. 

307 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Oh,  those  good  hours  that  slipped  away!  Again  and 
again  he  put  his  ear  to  the  keyhole  and  heard  nothing. 
She  was  there.  What  was  she  doing?  To  go  in  was 
weakness,  to  stay  outside  madness.  The  Frenchman 
in  him  argued  him  out.  The  Indian  compelled  him 
to  stay.  The  Frenchman  made  him  want  to  go  and 
fling  himself  at  her  feet,  to  pour  out  broken  infatuated 
sentences,  to  make  a  fool  of  himself.  The  Indian 
made  him  devise  in  his  mind  a  series  of  cunning  pun- 
ishments. She  ought  to  be  made  to  pay  for  this. 
The  man  in  him  sent  him  to  the  door,  caused  him  to 
fling  it  open  and  walk  into  the  sitting-room  choking 
with  inarticulate  anger. 

He  saw  a  girl  reading — absorbed,  a  heavy  book  lying 
against  her  knees. 

"Mon  Dieu"  he  said,  "what  is  this?" 

"S-sh!"  said  Dick. 

"But  what  is  it?" 

"A  fairy  tale,"  said  Dick,  "the  most  beautiful  thing 
I  ever  read.  Go  away." 

The  Frenchman  went  over  to  her  and  looked  over 
her  shoulder.  His  eyes  grew  wide.  For  a  minute  or 
two  he  spluttered,  half  laughing.  "My  soul !"  he  said, 
"but  you  kill  me.  The  Bible,  here!  and  in  these  cir- 
cumstances! You  make  me  feel  as  though  I  were 
standing  on  my  head  in  mid-air." 

"Oh,  please  be  quiet,"  said  Dick.  "I  never  can 
read  when  people  jabber.  What  do  you  want  ?  There's 
your  bed.  I'm  all  right." 

"You — are  all  right.  But  I!"  He  slapped  his 
chest.  "God!  I'm  not  all  right.  I'm  all  wrong. 

308 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Damnation,  why  do  you  think  I've  brought  you  here  ? 
What  have  you  come  for?  I'm  not  a  clergyman — No, 
no,  no!  Don't  listen  to  me." 

"I'm  not,"  said  Dick. 

The  man  almost  danced.  "But  you  must!"  he 
shouted.  "You  must!  That  room  there  is  a  lunatic 
asylum.  I've  been  shut  up  for  two  hours.  No  crea- 
ture can  stand  it.  Dick!  For  God's  sake!" 

But  Dick  hunched  herself  more  closely  into  the  chair 
and  went  on  reading.  The  lilt  of  the  lines  was  music. 
She  was  absorbed. 

The  Frenchman  walked  about  and  bit  his  lips  and 
ruffled  his  hair  and  stood  and  gazed  at  her.  Then 
he  tried  to  laugh.  "Ah,  yes,  I  see,"  he  said,  "a  joke, 
eh?  One  of  Dick's  jokes.  Oh,  very  good!  Very 
excellent!" 

He  got  no  answer. 

He  paced  again.  Even  mentally  he  began  to  lose 
his  English  accent.  He  began  even  to  lose  his  power 
of  translating  French  into  English.  There  were  so 
few  words  in  English.  He  sprang.  "Yes,  but  even 
jokes  can  go  too  long!  Sacre,  bon  Dieuf  I  am  done! 
I  am  finished."  He  snatched  the  book  away  and  flung 
it  on  the  table. 

Dick  was  on  her  feet.  "That  book,  please,"  she 
said,  "quick!" 

The  man  stood  in  front  of  her.  Every  finger 
throbbed.  "Dick!  Dick!"  he  said.  "Oh,  my  God! 
Dick!  You  tease  me.  You  madden  me.  It  is  late. 
Will  you  not  come?" 

"That  book,"  said  Dick,  "quick!" 

309 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

"That  book  must  wait.  I  have  waited — I!  Like 
any  lad,  I  have  danced  after  you  for  months,  avoided 
you  because  you  killed  me.  This  is  my  hour.  You 
said  so.  Be  generous!" 

"That  book!"  said  Dick. 

There  was  a  sort  of  cry.  The  book  was  caught 
up  and  given  back  and  a  door  banged. 

A  moment  later  the  white  light  fell  on  a  golden 
head  and  on  wide  pages  and  two  hands  with  long  thin 
fingers. 

********* 

The  musical  clock  struck  one.  The  bedroom  door 
opened.  The  Frenchman  came  in  quietly.  His  face 
was  perfectly  white  and  his  eyes  bloodshot.  He  said : 
"Just  listen." 

But  Dick  went  on  reading. 

He  bent  forward  and  tapped  her  on  the  shoulder. 
"I  said,  just  listen.  Do  you  hear?" 

Dick  looked  up.  She  had  been  thousands  of  miles 
away.  "Oh,"  she  said,  "it's  you.  Yes?" 

"Yes.  It's  me.  Still  me.  There  is  a  word  for 
you.  A  not  very  pleasant  word.  One  minute.  There's 
time  to  read  that  book  later.  Just  tell  me  this.  Did 
you  start  out  meaning  to  put  me  through  this?  You 
saw  me  pack.  You  chose  this  place  for  the  night. 
What  did  you  mean?" 

Dick  looked  startled.  She  saw  that  the  man  was 
in  some  sort  of  trouble.  She  tried  to  concentrate. 
She  repeated  his  words.  "What  did  you  mean? — 
What  did  /  mean?  But,  good  Lord,  you  know  me. 
I  didn't  mean.  I  don't  mean.  I  just  do.  The  door 

310 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

in  Eaton  Square  was  shut.  The  lights  were  out.  I 
thought  of  you.  You  might  be  up.  You're  always 
up.  Everyone  else  was  sleeping.  No  one  seemed  to 
care.  Without  meaning  anything  I  asked  you  to  come 
because  I  had  to  go,  had  to!  Is  it  that?  It  is  that 
Brighton  thing  ?"  She  got  up  and  put  the  book  down 
on  the  table.  "No,  no.  I  can't  help  it — I  am  not  a 
woman — yet.  There  it  is.  You  can't  alter  it.  I'm 
afraid  I — I  hope  I  haven't — I'm  sorry.  I  wish  I  did 
mean.  But  we  don't  mean,  any  of  us.  I  mean  any 
of  the  Okehamptons.  We  just  do.  Someone  put  a 
jetta  on  us." 

For  many  minutes  the  Black  Prince  looked  straightly 
at  her.  The  face  before  him  was  like  a  flower,  fresh 
and  young  and  clean — and  the  eyes  were  empty. 

He  bowed  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  several  times 
and  made  queer  little  gestures  with  his  hands.  "Read 
as  much  more  as'  you  can  of  your  book,"  he  said, 
"while  I  dress  myself.  In  fifteen  minutes  I  will  do 
myself  the  honor  of  taking  you  back  to  the  man  who 
is  going  to  marry  you.  His  future  life  will  repay  me." 


The  night  was  clear.  No  word  passed  between  the 
people  in  the  car.  Their  mental  attitudes  were  now 
reversed.  It  was  no  longer  Dick  who  wanted  to  go 
fast.  It  was  the  Frenchman.  His  lights  were  power- 
ful, but,  except  in  certain  places,  almost  unnecessary. 
A  full  moon  lighted  everything.  Houses  cast  their 
shadows  across  the  street.  On  the  London  road  the 
Frenchman  did  not  spare  his  car.  He  raced  the  devils 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

that  were  in  his  brain,  especially  the  one  who  seemed 
to  be  flying  alongside  him  with  lips  to  his  ear.  "What, 
expert,  you're  going  to  let  yourself  be  beaten  by  this 
slip  of  a  girl!  Where's  your  imagination?  You'll 
never  have  the  chance  again.  Never!"  But  Rene  de 
Maingauche  was  too  much  Indian  to  risk  being  made 
a  greater  fool  than  ever.  All  he  wanted  to  do  was 
to  get  back,  set  this  girl  down  and  never  see  her  again. 
She  had  ceased  to  be  amusing. 

He  was  relieved  to  find,  on  making  inquiries  at  the 
garage,  that  he  made  a  sort  of  circle  from  Leaming- 
ton. Breakfast  time  would  see  him  into  London.  He 
sat  as  far  away  from  Dick  as  he  could.  He  detested 
her.  This  was  the  second  time  that  she  had  tricked 
him. 

Strange  things  were  going  through  Dick's  head. 
She  had  not  lived  under  the  Okehampton  roof  for 
nothing.  Life  had  no  secrets  for  her,  and  death  had 
not  seemed  to  be  a  mystery  until  that  evening.  There 
were  many  things  in  the  book  that  puzzled  her,  new 
things,  rather  nice  things.  Inwardly  she  agreed  with 
the  Frenchman.  He  had  a  grievance.  Were  there  no 
men  in  the  world  who  could  forget  that  a  girl  was 
a  girl?  None.  Yes,  one.  Jack  had  forgotten.  At 
least  he  made  himself  forget.  Dear  old  Jack.  What 
a  corker !  But  this  Frenchman — she  would  never  for- 
get his  face.  It  was  time  that  she  began  to  mean 
things.  That  was  very  evident.  In  fact,  it  was  time 
for  her  to  force  herself  into  becoming  a  woman.  It 
was  not  London  that  lay  ahead  of  her.  It  was 
Thoresby;  not  London  and  its  restaurants,  its  rehear- 

312 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

sals,  its  evening-  performances,  its  home  walks  with 
Tony,  its  interludes  with  Morde  and  the  rest.  It  was 
Thoresby.  She  had  signed  an  agreement  with  the 
actor-manager.  He  had  hired  her  services  for  certain 
hours  of  the  day  at  such  and  such  a  price.  This  agree- 
ment was  easily  broken.  Not  so  the  Thoresby  agree- 
ment, under  which  she  hired  herself  to  him  at  such 
and  such  a  price  for  all  the  hours  of  the  day.  With 
a  sort  of  laugh  she  told  herself  that  she  was  in  luck. 
Not  many  girls  walked  from  one  engagement  to  an- 
other. She  would  never  make  an  actress,  said  Mr. 
Wilkes.  A  good  deal  of  acting  would  have  to  be  done 
in  the  future.  She  was  cast  for  the  part  of  a  happy 
and  contented  wife.  What  sort  of  a  man  was 

Thoresby  ? 

Well,  after  all,  what  did  it  mean?  Mean.  It  was 
a  new  word.  It  meant  something  perhaps  better  than 
Brewer  Street  for  Tony  and  the  certainty  of  white 
spats,  shiny  hats  and  glossy  shoes.  It  meant  a  roof 
for  her  mother  and  later  the  possibility  of  bread  and 
butter  for  Harry.  A  red-hot  needle  went  in  and  out 
of  her  heart,  dragging  behind  it  a  thread  of  pain  as 
she  thought  of  these  three  and  how  they  had  used 
her.  If  only  Tony  had  been  honest!  Nevertheless, 
they  were  hers,  her  people,  and  the  ineradicable  loyalty 
of  her  nature  sent  her  straight  to  Thoresby.  God 
only  knew  whether,  after  all,  she  would  be  able  to 
play  the  game  of  cricket  according  to  the  rules.  And 
when  she  said  the  word  God  to  herself  it  was  not 
the  word  which  had  been  so  often  on  her  lips.  It 
was  not  the  God  of  Quennor.  It  was  the  new  God 

3*3 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

in  this  book,  the  book  she  had  called  a  fairy  tale, 
and  which  she  had  left  unfinished,  very  much  un- 
finished. 

The  actor-manager  had  one  day  called  her  ignorant 
because  she  had  been  unable  to  pronounce  the  word 
idiosyncrasy.  How  should  she  know  how  to  pronounce 
it?  There  had  been  no  schooling  at  Quennor.  Noth- 
ing had  been  taught  at  Quennor  except  to  obtain  just 
that  thing  that  was  required  at  the  moment  somehow 
or  other,  generally  in  the  latter  manner.  Ignorant.  It 
was  a  curious  word.  And  yet  she  knew  life  back- 
ward. She  wondered  what  would  have  happened  to 
her  if  she  had  known  it  the  other  way  around.  She 
would  ask  the  Frenchman  what  he  meant  by  the  un- 
pleasant name.  No.  She  wouldn't — and  mile  by  mile 
Thoresby  came  nearer.  What  sort  of  a  man  was 
Thoresby  ? 


There  were  hills  now.  One  was  so  high  that  she  felt 
as  though  she  were  in  a  star  looking  down  on  the 
earth.  She  had  often  looked  up  from  the  earth  to 
the  stars.  Her  breath  was  blown  away  as  the  car 
sang  down  the  hill  unbraked,  every  now  and  then 
with  a  leap.  It  was  going  too  fast.  Thoresby  was 
at  the  other  end.  Once  she  touched  the  Frenchman 
on  the  arm — she,  Dick,  who  had  always  begged  for 
speed.  He  had  jerked  her  finger  away  and  they  wound 
up  the  long  white  road  into  a  sort  of  ball.  And  then 
there  was  something  friendly  in  the  country.  She 
thought  that  the  trees  waved  their  arms  at  her  and 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

that  the  hills  came  to  meet  her.  It  was  curious.  They 
must  have  gone  along  this  way  as  they  had  left  Lon- 
don. She  had  not  noticed. 

There  was  something  in  the  road.  It  looked  like 
a  black  pin  stuck  into  a  winding  white  ribbon.  She 
could  see  it  from  the  hill,  at  the  bottom  of  which  the 
road  turned  abruptly.  Someone  telling  his  troubles 
to  the  stars,  she  thought.  They  might  pass  him.  They 
must  pass  him.  He  was  on  their  road.  She  would 
look  out  for  him  at  the  time. 

The  car  dipped  like  a  swallow.  Again  they  wound 
up  the  ribbon.  But  this  time  too  near  to  its  edge.  As 
the  car  swept  around  its  rear  wheels  twisted  in  and 
out  of  the  great  dry  ruts  in  the  chalk.  The  corner 
was  taken  on  the  turf  ridge  divided  from  a  rolling 
field  of  corn  by  a  ditch  and  a  hedge.  The  near  wheels 
bumped  over  something,  not  ruts. 

"Stop!"  cried  Dick.  "It's  the  speck."  She  clutched 
the  Frenchman's  arm. 

He  snorted  and  threw  it  off.  "A  damned  man!' 
he  said.  "What  then?  What's  it  matter?" 

It  did  matter.  Something  in  Dick's  heart  seemed 
to  open.  It  went  utterly  cold.  It  did  matter.  But 
the  car  rushed  on. 

"Stop!    Stop!"  she  cried.    "You  must  stop!" 

The  Frenchman  snorted. 

"You  shall  stop!"  shouted  Dick,  the  air  taking  her 
voice  up  and  tossing  it  away  like  a  leaf. 

"Not  again  do  I  obey  your  orders,  my  precious!" 
said  the  Frenchman.  And  so  Dick  turned  in  her  seat. 
It  mattered.  Something  had  opened  in  her  heart.  She 

315 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

put  her  fingers  around  the  Frenchman's  throat  and 
brought  them  all  together. 

The  car  wobbled  like  a  drunken  man.  There  was 
a  grinding  of  tires.  The  Frenchman  cursed  and 
coughed  and  Dick  sprang  out. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  still,  asking  herself  what 
it  was,  why  she  did  this?  And  in  that  moment  she 
heard  a  laugh  and  jeer  and  then  saw  the  small  red 
eye  of  the  car  recede  and  grow  smaller  and  smaller, 
and  as  it  went  it  seemed  to  take  the  word  Thoresby 
away  with  it — out  of  her  mind  and  her  life. 

Dick  went  back.  She  ran  back.  They  had  gone 
over  a  man.  It  mattered.  Something  had  opened  in 
her  heart. 

It  was  all  crumpled  up  and  still,  a  dark  patch  on 
the  green.  Dick  was  on  her  knees.  It  mattered.  It 
mattered.  She  turned  it  over  and  the  moon  fell  de- 
liberately on  a  white  face  all  twisted. 

"Jack!"  she  cried,  "Jack!"  and  fell  upon  his  lips. 


Was  the  jetta  that  had  been  laid  upon  Tony  to 
break  the  lives  of  both  his  children?  A  miracle  had 
happened.  Yes,  it  was  a  miracle  and  nothing  else. 
How  could  it  be  anything  else  which  made  this  girl 
who  loved  no  one  turn  back? 

It  was  a  speck  on  the  road,  a  man  who  failed  to  keep 
his  ears  open,  who  asked  to  be  run  down,  a  mere 
damned  man,  as  the  Frenchman  had  called  him.  What 
other  word  is  there  for  the  thing  that  opened  her 
heart  suddenly,  unexpectedly,  except  love,  which  is  a 

316 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

miracle?  What  was  it,  that  which  took  her  back  to 
just  the  one  man,  loving  him,  and  made  a  thing  of 
him  all  crumpled?  The  jetta? 

Not  for  a  single  instant  did  the  mere  thought  of 
this  thing,  this  Quennor  thing,  enter  her  brain.  Jack 
couldn't  be  dead.  She  loved  him.  He  loved  her. 
Think  of  him  in  the  Crystal  Palace,  on  top  of  the  hill, 
and  with  his  mother.  In  all  the  history  of  the  world, 
in  every  chronicle  of  lovers,  there  had  been  no  love 
like  his.  There  should  and  could  be  no  love  like  hers. 

She  called  him  and  put  her  cheek  against  his  shoul- 
der, against  his  cheek.  She  picked  up  his  limp  hands 
and  kissed  them.  She  said  things  that  he  would  have 
thrilled  to  hear  and  trembled  to  believe.  But  she  got 
no  answer,  no  sign,  nothing.  Dick  had  found  her 
man  at  the  outpost  of  eternity.  He  might  never  re- 
turn. 

She  became  frightened.  She  called  him  loudly  like 
a  mother.  She  even  shook  him.  He  wasn't  dead. 
He  couldn't  be  dead.  She  had  been  reading  of  mira- 
cles in  the  book.  This  was  a  miracle.  But  he  never 
moved  and  his  eyes  never  opened  and  when  she  lifted 
his  arm  it  fell  with  a  thud. 

She  put  her  ear  to  his  heart,  the  heart  in  which  she 
was,  her  own  heart.  A  great  glad  cry  was  caught 
up  by  the  breeze  and  sent  all  among  the  anxious 
branches  of  the  Quennor  trees,  her  trees.  She  knew 
that  he  couldn't  be  dead. 

She  went  on  her  knees,  almost  on  her  face.  She 
edged  herself  beneath  him.  She  put  one  of  his  arms 
around  her  neck  and  with  a  mighty  effort  struggled 

317 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

to  her  feet,  catching  his  other  loose  arm,  and  so  she 
had  them  both.  He  was  like  a  great  sack  on  her  back. 
In  front  of  her  lay  the  long  white  road  and  the  world 
asleep.  Without  any  surprise  she  recognized  Quennor. 
At  the  end  of  the  road  lay  the  little  town  in  a  hollow. 
All  its  eyes  were  shut.  This  was  her  hour.  Jack  had 
come  to  her  at  Sydenham.  She  was  his,  then.  Now 
he  was  hers.  Let  the  road  be  twice  as  long  and  she 
would  carry  him  gladly,  gladly.  There  were  miracles 
in  the  book.  This  was  a  miracle.  This  was  love. 

On  she  went  without  a  stagger — this  high-strung, 
unexercised,  over-smoked,  tired  girl  whose  very  soul 
had  been  on  the  rack,  whose  purity  had  almost  been 
stained.  Bit  by  bit  the  long  white  road  fell  behind 
her.  There  was  the  white  gate.  There  was  the  place 
where  her  dog  had  set  on  a  chicken  and  broken  its 
back.  In  a  line  with  her  now  there  was  the  farm 
where  the  old  man  lived  with  a  face  like  a  dried 
pippin  or  a  fig. 

Bit  by  bit  the  little  town  came  nearer.  She  could 
see  the  white  tower  of  its  church  glistening  in  the 
moonlight.  She  thought  she  heard  the  clock  over  the 
market-place  strike  the  hour.  Within  a  stone's  throw 
of  this  place  there  was  the  doctor's  house. 

A  cock  crowed.  He  was  answered  from  right  and 
left,  near  and  far. 

She  wondered  what  they  meant  by  crowing. 

And  as  she  struggled  on,  step  by  step,  there  was  a 
song  in  her  heart.  It  had  opened  to  take  Jack  in 
and  closed  again. 


THE    OUTPOST   OF   ETERNITY 

This  time  she  heard  the  clock.  Her  heart  still  sang, 
but  all  her  limbs  were  trembling.  Another  yard,  an- 
other foot  and  she  must  fall.  Her  heart  thumped  and 
perspiration  ran  down  her  face.  But  if  Jack  couldn't 
die,  she  couldn't.  This  was  a  miracle.  This  was  love. 

She  stood  in  front  of  the  doctor's  door.  There  were 
a  knocker  and  a  bell.  She  kicked  the  door.  It  was 
all  that  she  could  do.  She  kicked  it  and  cried  out. 
Her  voice  was  hoarse  and  faint.  Again  and  again 
she  kicked.  Was  this  a  city  of  the  dead?  Another 
instant  and  she  must  join  them.  If  she  went,  Jack 
must  go,  for  this  was  love. 

A  window  opened.  A  voice  came.  "What  is  it?" 
The  man  used  his  eyes,  left  the  window  open,  almost 
fell  downstairs  and  opened  the  door  in  time  to  catch 
Dick  in  his  arms,  Dick,  and  the  thing  that  fell  away 
from  her  and  lay  at  her  feet,  all  crumpled. 


319 


ONE  morning  toward  the  end  of  June,  and  a 
good  June,  as  Tony  Okehampton  was  polish- 
ing his  shoes  with  a  sort  of  velvet  rag  which 
was  not  a  rag  and  whistling  to  himself  because  there 
was  a  letter  in  a  big  round  school-boy  fist  on  his  dress- 
ing-table, his  old  lady  came  up  and  tapped  at  the  door. 
"Come,"  said  Tony,  polishing  heartily  and  whistling 
with  gusto  because  the  letter  on  the  dressing-table  was 
the  first  that  he  had  had  for  considerably  over  a  month. 

The  old  lady  came  in.  "Oh,  it's  a  shame !"  she  said. 
"You  a-cleaning  of  yer  own  boots." 

Tony  roared  with  laughter,  and  it  was  the  first  time 
that  he  had  roared  with  laughter  or  even  smiled  for 
considerably  over  a  month  because  the  hand  that  had 
written  that  letter  had  had  a  pulse  in  it  very  difficult 
to  feel.  "Don't  mind  me,"  said  Tony.  "I'll  clean 
your  boots  every  morning  if  you  don't  look  out.  What 
is  it,  Mrs.  Pearson?" 

"It's  a  young  person,  sir,  she  calls  'erself  a  young 
lady,  which  I  don't  believe,  and  she  wishes  to  see  you." 

"Well,"  said  Tony,  "show  her  up,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Pearson.  Show  her  up.  I  don't  clean  my  shoes  in  the 
sitting-room." 

"She  don't  want  no  showing  up.  She  followed  me 
up.  She  says  it's  urgent." 

320 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

Tony  was  very  thin  and  very  white.  He  had  suf- 
fered. He  had  stood  at  the  bedside  of  Dick  and  lis- 
tened to  her  while  she  babbled  and  watched  her  hesi- 
tating on  the  threshold  of  the  door  which  opens  so 
often  but  through  which  no  one  ever  returns.  He  put 
his  shoe  down,  rolled  down  the  sleeve  of  his  dressing- 
gown  and  went  quickly  in  to  the  sitting-room.  The 
word  urgent  had  been  used  too  frequently  lately. 

He  saw  a  quiet  woman,  not  young,  dressed  as  coun- 
try girls  dress  on  Sundays.  "I  come  from  Park  Court, 
sir." 

Tony  took  a  step  back. 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"You  are  Mr.  Antony  Okehampton,  are  you  not, 
sir?" 

"Yes,"  said  Tony.     "Why?" 

"Dr.  Leverett  sent  me,  sir.  It  appears  that  'e  knows 
you  at  the  club.  I  called  him  in  to  Mrs.  Okehampton 
last  night,  sir,  not  being  able  to  make  anything  of  'er 
meself.  If  you  wish  to  'ave  a  word  with  my  mistress 
before  she  goes,  sir,  I  think  you'd  better " 

"I'm  afraid  I — that  is — very  well.    Wait  for  me." 

Tony  dressed  himself  for  the  street  not  quite  so 
carefully  as  usual.  He  had  intended  to  celebrate  the 
receipt  of  that  letter  by  wearing  a  new  tie,  blue  with 
white  spots.  He  wore  an  old  one  which  was  merely 
blue.  And  then  he  led  the  way  downstairs  and  into 
Brewer  Street,  and  so  to  Regent  Street.  He  hailed  a 
taxi,  told  the  driver  where  to  go  and  was  silent.  The 
woman  talked.  In  an  every-day,  commonplace  way, 
going  into  details  with  a  sort  of  relish,  she  told  Tony 

321 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

what  had  been  happening  at  Park  Court  since  she  had 
been  housemaid  there.  Not  once  had  her  mistress 
been  dressed  for  a  many  weeks.  Tony  could  have  told 
this  woman  all  these  things  and  many  more. 

Dr.  Leverett  came  into  the  hall.  He  had  sometimes 
played  billiards  with  Tony.  It  seemed  odd  to  meet  like 
this.  "Oh,  yes,  good-morning,"  he  said.  "I'm  glad 
you  were  in.  There  is  just  time.  Not  much  more 
than  that.  She  asked  for  you.  I  had  not  connected 
her  with  you.  I'll  show  you  the  way." 

"I  know,"  said  Tony. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  Call  me  at  once  if  any  change 
takes  place." 

"I  will,"  said  Tony. 

He  watched  the  doctor  go  into  the  room  that  had 
been  his  and  then  stood  hesitatingly  outside  the  bed- 
room door. 

Drusilla  was  propped  up  against  pillows.  Her  head 
looked  very  large  and  her  hair,  no  longer  altogether 
red,  stuck  out  like  the  hair  of  the  woman  of  Somali- 
land.  She  smiled  politely  as  Tony  ventured  in  and 
endeavored  to  hold  out  her  hand.  "Charming  weather 
for  the  ducks,  I  don't  think !"  she  said.  The  voice  was 
very  weak,  but  the  enunciation  as  clear  as  ever.  "I 
hope  you'll  like  Quennor,  and  that  you  won't  mind  bats 
in  your  bedroom.  There  is  fungus  growing  under 
your  bed,  but  as  it  grows  under  all  the  beds  there  is 
no  choice.  You  are  an  old  school-fellow  of  my  hus- 
band, are  you  not?  Dear  old  Tony,  the  white  man, 
everybody's  friend."  Her  laugh  was  very  unpleasant. 
"Forgive  my  not  being  dressed.  People  call  me  an  in- 

322 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

valid,  you  know.  They  might  just  as  well  call  me  a 
morphia  maniac.  Won't  you  sit  down?" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Tony.     He  sat  down. 

"You  will  be  interested  to  see  Tony  once  more.  He's 
a  drunkard,  now,  you  know.  The  stucco  of  his  breed- 
ing has  crumbled.  He's  just  a  very  common,  coarse 
man." 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Tony. 

"Oh,  but  yes,"  said  Drusilla.  "I  assure  you.  Is 
there  any  need  to  do  more  than  look  at  me?  It  is  he 
who  has  brought  me  to  this.  But  he's  not  such  a 
drunkard  as  to  have  succeeded  in  drowning  his  vam- 
pire habits.  My  dear  friend,  dear  old  Tony,  the  white 
man,  is  perhaps  the  most  colossal  fraud  of  the  century. 
If  you  can  slip  away  before  you  see  him,  do.  He  ex- 
udes a  subtle  poison.  You  will  never  quite  recover. 
Thank  God  I  have  been  successful  in  preserving  his 
daughters.  My  girls  are  angels.  Stay  and  see  my 
girls."  She  laughed  again,  but  the  old  sting  had  gone. 
Her  head  sank  a  little  and  her  breathing  became  very 
loud. 

Tony  hurried  to  the  door  and  called.  The  doctor 
came  at  once.  The  two  men  went  in  together,  Tony 
slowly. 

"Ah !"  said  the  doctor. 

There  was  a  new  note  in  Brasilia's  voice.  "Oh,  it's 
ah !  is  it  ?"  she  said.  "I'm  going,  am  I  ?  Who's  that 
over  there — why,  it's  Tony,  dear  old  Tony."  She 
made  a  sort  of  claw  of  her  hand  and  a  look  of  intense 
supreme  disappointment  went  all  over  her  face. 
"What !"  she  said.  "This— Tony?  This  clean  person 

323 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

so  smartly  dressed  that  he  looks  as  if  he  were  going  to 
a  wedding — the  drunken,  blaspheming,  soddened 
brute?  Pull  me  up!  Pull  me  up!  My  work  is  not 
finished.  Some  one  has  been  giving  him  antidotes. 
Let  me  get  at  him." 

A  horrible  shriek  rang  through  the  flat.  It  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  peculiar  silence  and  then  even  the  servants 
felt  as  people  do  when  a  thunderstorm  passes  and  the 
air  becomes  clear. 

The  jetta  that  had  been  laid  upon  Tony  Okehamp- 
ton  was  removed  forever. 

Harry  was  in  Paris.  At  Maxim's  she  was  called 
La  Vierge  Sage. 


324 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  good  people  in  and  around  Quennor,  and 
even  those  who  lived  as  far  away  as  King's 
Redesborough  were  much  interested.  The 
man  who  drove  ploughs  up  and  down  the  rolling  fields 
nearly  always  lumpy  and  in  dry  weather,  before  the 
corn  shot  up,  very  nearly  white,  never  failed  to  ask 
the  latest  news  of  the  young  couple  who  drove  up 
daily,  sometimes  twice  a  day,  from  the  Unicorn  in  a 
small  tub  cart  to  inspect  the  alterations  to  three  cot- 
tages which  were  balanced  on  the  side  of  the  hill  be- 
low Quennor.  And  the  wives,  most  of  whom  took  in 
washing,  and  all  of  whom  sold  eggs  and  who  man- 
aged, although  never  idle,  to  keep  two  good  eyes  on 
other  people's  business,  had  plenty  to  say.  Their  gos- 
sip was  tinged  with  a  little  romance,  with  a  thrill  or 
two,  because  this  was  the  couple  that  had  occupied  the 
doctor's  house  in  the  market  square  for  many,  many 
weeks,  and  who  had  been  the  means  of  bringing  to 
King's  Redesborough  not  one  little  old  lady,  but  three, 
and  who  brought  back  to  the  place  the  roaring  Squire 
of  Quennor  who  now  wore  spats  and  had  never  a  word 
for  a  soul. 

Nothing  that  these  people  did  went  unreported. 
They  were  watched  with  growing  sympathy,  while  the 
hundred  stories  were  sifted  out  and  the  truth  re- 

325 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

mained,  as  they  walked  to  the  doctor's  house  from  the 
Unicorn  and  to  the  Unicorn  from  the  doctor's  house. 
As  people  get  the  temperature  from  a  glass  the  town 
received  bulletins  from  these  four  people's  faces.  For 
a  fortnight  the  bulletins  were  bad.  After  which  they 
improved  daily.  And  when,  finally,  old  Mrs.  Ixmore 
who,  happening  to  drive  to  the  station,  told  Mrs.  Wil- 
liam Ixmore,  Mrs.  James  Ixmore  and  Mrs.  Isaac  Ix- 
more that  the  Squire,  who  never  had  a  word  for  a 
soul,  had  presented  the  Institute  with  a  three-quarter 
sized  billiard  table  and  had  led  the  three  little  old 
ladies  up  to  the  woods,  dogs  seemed  to  bark  louder 
and  cocks  to  crow  more  shrilly  and  the  clock  over  the 
market  place  to  strike  with  his  old  accustomed  con- 
fidence. 

A  fortnight  later  the  Unicorn  lost  its  visitors.  One 
afternoon  a  wagonette  fetched  them  away  and  there 
were  many  last  words  before  it  drove  off  to  the  station. 

And  then  one  morning  the  Squire,  who  now  had  a 
word  for  everybody,  passed  on  the  tips  of  his  toes  along 
the  High  Street  and  into  the  yard  of  the  man  who  had 
a  tub  cart  for  hire  with  a  corpulent  pony  who  loved  to 
have  his  nose  tickled.  And  as  he  drove  out  it  was 
noticed  that  his  hat  was  tilted  and  that  a  long  cigar 
was  stuck  between  his  teeth. 

There  were  faces  at  every  window,  old  faces  and 
young.  Eyes  peered  from  the  post  office,  through 
loaves  in  bakers'  shops,  over  bottled  onions  and  packets 
of  milk  chocolate  in  grocers,  between  brass  rods  and 
hanging  brooms  in  general  shops  and  over  the  screen 
in  the  bank.  And  when  it  was  found  that  the  tub  cart 

326 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

drew  up  outside  the  doctor's  house  it  was  astonishing 
how  many  people  had  business  at  the  barber's.  Even 
elderly  women,  little  girls  and  elder  sisters,  whose  eyes 
had  just  begun  to  rove  a  little,  seemed  to  stand  in 
need  of  treatment,  although  the  barber  had  not  ac- 
quired the  art  of  shampooing. 

And  it  was  into  a  High  Street  almost  as  crowded 
as  when  the  Territorials  passed  through  and  lunched 
on  bread  and  beer  and  cheese  beneath  the  old  wood 
pillars  of  the  market-place  among  their  feeding  horses 
that  Dick,  yes  Dick,  came  feebly  forth,  very  thin  and 
frail,  but  with  eyes  bright  and  hair  golden  and  laughter 
on  her  lips. 

And  when  all  these  eyes,  kind  eyes,  saw  how  the 
Squire  took  off  his  hat  and  led  his  girl  bareheaded  to 
the  tub  cart,  not  one  of  them,  no  not  one,  was  dry, 
not  even  the  only  one  of  the  little  brown  beast  from 
the  brewery  who  rushed  out  and  barked  at  motor 
cyclists  to  the  imminent  danger  of  himself  and  them. 

And  there  was  another  great  day  for  these  good 
people  when  the  railway  van  set  down  a  large  bath 
chair  at  the  doctor's  house.  Think  how  this  incident 
ran  through  the  town.  Not  an  Ixmore  of  all  the 
Ixmores  could  talk  of  anything  else.  "If  it's  fine  to- 
morrow  " 

To-morrow  was  fine,  and  again  there  might  have 
been  Territorials  in  the  High  Street.  And  when  they 
saw  a  man  with  a  white  face,  dressed  in  clothes  which 
seemed  too  big  for  him,  come  feebly  out,  blinking  at 
the  sun,  with  one  arm  around  Miss  Dick's  neck,  no 
comments  were  made,  because  no  one  could  find  a 

327 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

voice  that  was  quite  safe  to  use.  It  was  the  left  arm 
that  was  around  Miss  Dick's  neck.  There  was  an 
empty  sleeve  on  the  right  side. 

And  somehow  it  seemed  to  do  the  town  good  to 
see  Miss  Dick  wheeling  her  man  about  day  after  day. 
Widows  and  widowers,  wives  and  husbands,  unmar- 
ried girls  and  hobbledehoys  slanted  their  heads  a  little 
as  the  two  went  by.  This  was  romance.  This  was 
better  than  all  the  stories  in  magazines  and  "Blue- 
bells" and  "Hearts  to  Hearts."  It  was  very  pleasant 
to  feel  that  in  a  sort  of  way  they  were  all  in  the  story. 
Hadn't  they  all  been  many  times  to  the  very  spot 
where  the  thing  had  laid  all  crumpled?  Wasn't  the 
doctor  who  had  kept  these  two  in  the  world  their 
doctor?  Wasn't  it  little  Jimmy  Ixmore  who  had 
brought  in  a  loaded  revolver  that  he  had  found  in 
the  ditch  still  loaded  ?  Ah !  It  all  belonged  to  them. 

And  when,  finally,  the  bath  chair  was  discarded  for 
the  tub,  and  even  the  Captain,  as  he  was  called,  drove 
it  with  his  one  hand  up  to  the  hill,  the  Ixmores  and 
the  mere  few  remaining  people  of  King's  Redesbor- 
ough  congratulated  themselves  upon  the  fact  that  they 
were  going  to  see  the  rest  of  the  romance  worked 
out.  "What  do  you  think,  my  dear!  Them  two  is 
a  re-buildin'  them  cottages  on  the  'ill.  It's  a  fact." 

It  was  not  before  the  three  cottages,  all  washed 
with  yellow  ocher,  with  a  new  window  here  and  there 
in  the  thatch,  and  all  the  old  beams  inside  glowing, 
were  satisfactorily  knocked  into  one  and  furnished 
with  good  old  pieces  and  shining  warming  pans  that 
Dick  and  Jack  moved  in. 

328 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

They  stood  together,  close  together,  with  confetti 
down  their  necks  and  the  clang  of  old  hells  in  their 
ears.  This  was  home. 

It  was  then  that  Dick,  with  the  sun  shining  on  her 
golden  head  and  her  eyes  no  longer  empty,  put  the 
cuff  of  the  empty  sleeve  to  her  lips. 

"It  was  a  miracle,"  she  said. 

Jack  nodded.  He  was  a  tanned  Jack  and  he  had 
grown  a  mustache.  What  was  the  use  of  looking  like 
a  sailor  when  he  had  lost  the  sea? 

"I  think  I  was  more  or  less  out  of  my  mind,  Dick," 
he  said.  "When  I  left  home  the  car  somehow  brought 
me  to  Quennor.  Every  tree  told  me  that  what  was 
said  was  a  lie,  but  you  had  gone  with  that  French- 
man. I  don't  know  what  I  did.  I  suppose  I  put  the 
car  up  somewhere.  I  remember  wandering  about.  I 
believe  I  felt  something  heavy  in  my  jacket.  Nothing 
seemed  to  matter  that  night.  Why,  I  even  forgot 
mother! — The  thing  was  very  cold  against  my  fore- 
head." 

"It  was  a  miracle,"  said  Dick.  She  put  her  head 
down  on  his  shoulder.  It  was  good. 

"Why?    What's  that  in  your  hand?"  asked  Jack. 

"Oh,  yes,  this.    Read  it." 

It  was  a  letter.     This  is  how  it  ran: 

Good  luck,  my  dear.  I  only  want  you  to  be  happy. 
Never  give  me  another  thought.  Yes,  give  me  one.  Come 
and  drop  one  of  your  wild  violets  on  me  when  my  time 
comes. 

Billy  Thoresby. 

"Keep  that,"  said  Jack.     "What  about  that  mys- 
329 


THE    OUTPOST    OF    ETERNITY 

terious  room  that  I've  never  been  allowed  to  see?  Is 
there  anything  to  pay  to  go  in?" 

"Not  for  you,  Jacko.  I've  paid  and  shall  always 
pay.  Like  to  see  it?" 

"Rather!" 

"Come  on,  then." 

Away  she  went  upstairs,  a  narrow  winding  stairs, 
through  door  after  door.  Then  she  waited.  It  was 
a  room  in  the  third  cottage,  a  built-out  room.  Dick 
had  had  big  windows  put  into  three  of  its  walls. 
Through  the  middle  one  there  was  the  sun,  and 
through  all  three  God's  country  spread  out  like  a  car- 
pet beneath  the  sky. 

The  room  had  nothing  in  it  except  a  large  solemn 
book.  It  lay  open  on  a  window  seat. 

"My  school-room,"  said  Dick. 

"The  very  book?" 

"Yes,  the  very  one." 

He  went  down  on  his  knees  beside  her,  and  fol- 
lowed her  finger. 

And  all  wept,  and  bewailed  her;  but  he  said,    Weep  not; 

she  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth. 
And  they   laughed  him  to   scorn,   knowing   that   she   was 

dead. 
And  he  put  them  all  out,  and  took  her   by  the  hand,  and 

called,  saying,    Maid,  arise. 
And  her  spirit  came  again,  and  she  arose  straight  way — 


TlNIS. 


330 


A    000129555    9 


